Revelations
by Startled Boris
Summary: A lost masterpiece holds the Nations' secret and is now in unscrupulous hands. Can the Nations stop it being revealed to the world? Will love or amnesia get in the way? Assassin!Romano? Pirate!England? Russia chases Latvia? Prussia and Denmark on the run? Sequel to Baltics Secrets. Almost all the Nations are in this story. Special appearance from the Ancients.
1. Prologue

**Title: Revelations**

**Characters: Russia, fem Latvia, France, England, Poland, Belarus, Prussia, the Nordics and lots of others.**

**Summary: A lost masterpiece holds the Nations' secret and is now in unscrupulous hands. Can the Nations stop it from being revealed to the world's media? Or will love or amnesia get in the way? The clock is ticking.**

**Genre: Humour/Angst/Romance/Hurt-Comfort/Drama/Western (wait what?)**

**Setting: Story takes place in various locations in 1980s Europe**

**Author's Note: This is the sequel to the Baltics Secrets, if you're unsure what is happening it might help if you've read that story first. However, I will occasionally re-cap from the previous story (mainly because my memory is very bad and I sometimes forget what I wrote), so it will be obvious what is happening. Idiocy, angst (probably a bit darker than the previous story), fluff, sexual innuendo, swearing, drinking, cross-dressing, car chases, mild cartoon violence.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia obviously; all these characters were created by the magical, marvellous Hidekaz Himaruya.**

Prologue – Picture This

The year is 1516, Paris, France

"One last painting just for me!" the French King exclaimed, his dark eyes twinkling, his face blushed with joy, "Leonardo, you do me such great honour! I will treasure it forever!"

The old man, his beard now almost white, his eyes now clouding over, bowed down to his friend, and said in his thick Italian "Your Majesty, it is a present for you, a gift of thanks for your hospitality in my last years."

Francis I took the once strong hand of the Master painter, artist, genius, dramatic tears in his eyes, and kissed it. "You have captured them so beautifully."

The two men turned to gaze at the canvas, Leonardo bowed his head, it was to be his last painting, his hands now were too unsteady for the work (his apprentice had done much of the intricate layering upon layering of colour), and his eyes were almost gone. But it was his finest and, he thought, his most controversial.

"Ah! Votre majesté, it is finished? It is truly magnifique!"

The King turned to his Nation and smiled, "It is indeed, Francis. It will stand for centuries as a testament to the glory of France!"

"Honhonhon, the little Italies looks so adorable and of course, I am handsome and heroic of course." the young man shook his blond locks and twirled around the painting, pointing and posing. He had enjoyed posing for the painting very much, several times insisting on being nude, although he was attired in full battle armour in the portrait. "Monsieur Da Vinci, I congratulate you!"

The old man looked at the fey young man as he swished his long blond hair, smoothing his velvet tunic and straightening his furred cape. To have portrayed this playboy, this 'codardo' into an armoured conquering warrior so convincingly had depleted all of the artist's ingénue. That was it, he had finished.

The two Francis' turned again to the painting with elation. Feliciano and Romano were portrayed as small winged cherubs sounding trumpets to herald the approach of a mighty warrior – a blond-haired god, a sword in one hand, a shield in the other. Enemies lay scattered around him. Their bloodied bodies testament to the ferocity and mighty power that was France.

"I painted their faces from memory and from descriptions from Francis, your Majesty," here the old man bowed to the King and then to France, "So my apologies if they are not truly accurate."

Unfortunately, the artist was a genius and the countenances were truly accurate.

The two Francis', both as vain and as recklessly oblivious as the other, did not grasp the consequences. The old man did, and laughed silently to himself until his death three years later, in the arms of the King of France.

'The Nations' was to hang in the French King's own bedroom until 1547, after this its whereabouts are shrouded in secrecy.

**Author's Notes:**

**Codardo – coward in Italian**

**Leonardo da Vinci – lived from 1452 to 1519. He was taken in by Francis I of France in his latter years and it is said he died in his arms. He was probably one of the greatest painters/artists that ever lived. Many of his works have invited controversy and speculation.**

**Francis I of France died in 1547. He was an avid collector and patron of the arts.**


	2. Self Control

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and not me.**

**Warnings: May contain fluff, if you have an allergy to fluffiness then read no further. No characters were harmed in the making of this story.**

Chapter 1 – Self-Control

Leningrad, Russia – early 1980s (approximately four weeks after the events of the world meeting at Austria's mansion).

Another Monday morning, another meeting. Russia sat, thoroughly bored in an elaborately decorated meeting room, his huge booted feet stuck up on the table, his blond head tipped back, gazing up at the plasterwork on the ceiling.

He wasn't even pretending to listen but was instead day-dreaming and wishing he was back in his house eating chocolate chip cookies, drinking vodka with Latvia on his lap.

Actually, she hadn't sat on his lap in ages. He'd hoped that after getting her to confess she loved him at Vienna Zoo, and then their tumble in the hay in Austria's stable, that their love affair would just come on in leaps and bounds. It should fly like an eagle now, he thought. But in actual fact, it hadn't. A burst balloon had more flight in it.

Latvia had been reticent, to say the least. She'd avoided him, and tried to insist that they shouldn't be more than friends, that it was too complicated. That it didn't feel right having sex in the house with Lithuania and Estonia. Russia had tried several times to get the two other Baltics out of the house, but that had failed too. He'd also tried to get her out of the house, this too had failed. So, apart from small snatched cuddles (usually catching hold of her from behind while she washed up), pulling her protesting onto his lap when she brought him coffee in his office, and once shoving her in the snow and jumping on her on the pretext of a snowball fight, there'd been barely any physical contact.

By now, Russia was at his wit's end, and had found it very frustrating. Cold showers and morning runs had been the norm for him for a few weeks while he tried to figure out how to break her resolve. The fact that she wanted to keep their relationship a secret was another thing that puzzled and annoyed him. He didn't care who knew, but was prepared to do anything to keep her happy. But the fact was that there wasn't a relationship to keep secret and this was something that Russia was determined to change.

The delegates around the table - all charged with the dubious job of keeping Russia up to date on happenings within the Government – were silent. They eyed their Nation with trepidation. None of them wanted to point out the obvious – that Russia had not been listening to a word they had said.

"Is the meeting over?" Russia suddenly asked, looking around at the nervous-looking suited men in the room.

They all nodded, much relieved.

Russia stood up, nodded to Estonia who had been sat behind him taking notes, and strode out of the door.

He would buy some flowers for her, he thought. But also something for Lithuania as well to cover up his intentions, and Estonia he thought, in case Estonia thought that Lithuania was a favourite, oh and his sister, Ukraine or she will complain.

Why did things have to be so complicated, he thought. He and Latvia should be a couple now, he thought, going on proper dates like normal couples, having dinner, going to the theatre, and... here, he gulped and sighed longingly, kissing and cuddling.

* * *

><p>When they returned to the house Russia had bought a dozen red roses (so much for keeping a secret), several balls of wool, a new saucepan and some new computer floppy disks for Estonia (he had no idea what the latter was – Estonia said he needed some 5¼ inch floppies which Russia thought exceedingly small).<p>

"New wool!" Ukraine was delighted, "Hmmm, blue..." she added, "Never mind, I'll knit you a scarf, Vanya."

"New saucepan! Thank you, Sir," Lithuania was pleased with his present, but also suspicious. Russia had been in an odd mood since returning from the world meeting just a few weeks ago. His mood swings seemed to be more erratic than ever. One minute the boss was ecstatic and tapdancing around the house, the next he was morose and sat in his study with his vodka. Once, Lithuania thought he'd heard the sound of crying coming from his study, but couldn't be sure. He'd only seen his boss cry twice in all the centuries he'd lived with him and he never ever wanted to re-live those days.

There were also the five mile morning runs Russia was now embarking on and his new 'diet' which was alarming enough. Lithuania had never known Russia watch his diet before. It was all very perplexing.

* * *

><p>"They're lovely, but..." Latvia took the roses from him and tried to find a vase.<p>

Russia peered around, made sure no-one was around and picked her up and spun her round.

"Put me down... er Sir," Latvia struggled, almost dropping the vase and roses and smacked him fruitlessly on his shoulder.

"But Aija..."

"Please don't call me that. We can't do this, I told you. It doesn't feel right. They're my friends. Your country is occupying my country and Toris and Eduard and..." she felt tears brimming up. Why did it have to be like this? It was getting harder and harder to hold him off now. At first Russia had backed off when she'd protested but he was getting more and more insistent.

The first few days after they had come back from the world meeting, Latvia had started to have second thoughts. His smashing up the house after finding Poland's makeover of his bomb shelter basement into a lilac glittery nightmare – all paid for by his credit card – had not helped.

What on earth had she been thinking – sleeping with her boss? Granted, she'd slept with him before – a cold winter night in 1944 to be exact , but neither had known who the other was. But now... it was different. She'd carried a torch for him for near on 40 years and now after finding each other after all this time... Hungary's warning also echoed through her head and kept her awake at night. 'He'll never let you leave,' Elizaveta had told her. She knew him well enough to know this to be true. His possessiveness would take new heights the more she yielded to him. And what would she do if and when her country became independent?

She needed space, but Russia would not give her space. That seemed to be one thing he didn't want to give her. And in the confines of the mansion, as large as it was, she felt she was being smothered and that every time she turned a corner he was there.

He obviously wasn't thinking clearly. So she would have to think for the two of them.

Russia sighed and pulled her onto his lap and snuffled into her hair, it had a fragrance of apples, flowers and the sea. He held her tight, so tight it was hard to breathe.

Latvia allowed herself to be cuddled for a while, her ears straining for anyone approaching the room. She stiffened as she heard Ukraine clomping back and what was that? Surely she couldn't hear the older Nation's boobs bouncing?

She jumped off Russia's lap hurriedly and, despite her misgivings, not without some regret.

Russia grumbled and stood up to pull her back, but she put her hand up to his chest to stop him, "Later..." she said.

Russia grinned happily at this. 'Finally,' he thought, 'I've gotten through to her,' and, as his sister came in carrying her knitting and a romance novel, he took himself off to his bedroom, changed into his combats and went for yet another five mile run to be followed by yet another cold shower.

**Author's Notes:**

**5¼ inch floppy disk – the only external storage available at that time for a computer (before 3.5 inch floppies and long before USBs, CD ROMs etc).**

**Aija is Latvia's alias from the Second World War.**

**Please feel free to review, comment etc.**


	3. Money Money Money

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and not me.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited so early on in this story: Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx.**

**Warnings: Fluff, cross-dressing, Prussia (but not fluffy cross-dressing Prussia)**

Chapter 2 – Money Money Money

Leningrad, Russia

It was a strange afternoon in Russia's house. Ukraine had arrived that morning on an 'impromptu' visit and had announced she was staying for a while. She often visited and in the last few weeks since their return from the world meeting at Austria's house had been and gone three times. However, this time she had a determined look on her usual open cheerful face. Russia was worried for a minute that she was taking over as the obsessive sister.

Belarus had only visited once in the past month and that had been to pick up some of her favourite knives and, frighteningly, some handcuffs and a whip she had secreted somewhere. Russia and the Baltics assumed she must be on some new medication as she'd skipped off happily after hugging them all in a purely sisterly fashion. Nobody's fingers had been broken and she didn't even try to abduct her brother.

Russia had no idea what had possessed England to fall in love with his sister – she'd been living in London ever since leaving Austria's mansion. He'd never really given the English Nation a lot of thought since they'd been allies in the War, however, he was now in awe of the man. And if he could have he would have given him a big hug. ('I say, old chap!' would no doubt have been England's response to this.) Perhaps, he thought, England was indeed 'possessed', he wouldn't put it past Belarus to use black magic.

However, it wasn't her brother Ukraine had her eye on, it was Estonia. And it wasn't just her eye that was on him. Whenever she got the chance her hand would be on him too – largely on Estonia's bottom, which she thought very cute.

Lithuania who had observed this, thankfully, the only one who had, was extremely nervous, he had been the one to give Estonia love advice pertaining Ukraine, and knowing Russia and his protectiveness, was afraid for his health. Belarus didn't count, for the moment, anyway, while she was out 'bothering' England (Russia still couldn't work out what on earth was going on there) she wasn't chasing her big brother around the house, tying him to bedposts or tricking him into signing a marriage contract.

"Yikes!" Estonia almost dropped his coffee as Ukraine pinched his bottom.

"What's wrong with you? You need to calm down," Russia frowned.

All five Nations were sat around the kitchen table, Russia reading a newspaper, Ukraine knitting, Estonia doing Russia's tax return, Latvia reading a novel and Lithuania shelling peas.

"Nothing... I'm fine," Estonia mumbled, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

Russia shook his head, he wasn't taking much notice of his newspaper. He was thinking about what to give Latvia for Christmas – which was just a few weeks away. He knew what he would like to give her...

"Did anyone find out what happened to Lily and Iceland? Did they get married?" Latvia asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes they did... in Seychelles. They looked so cute..." Katya said, and received a very unromantic kick under the table from Estonia. "... so I heard..." she added quickly.

Russia slouched down in his chair and reached out under the table with his foot with the intention of playing 'footsie' with Latvia. It didn't appear to be working. He gently rubbed her leg with his foot and raised his eyebrows at her. She ignored him and her face showed no emotion whatsoever. 'She's an ice maiden' he thought.

Whilst Estonia wondered why Ukraine was stroking his leg, he pulled back quickly and then shook his head urgently at her.

Russia, the support of the other person's leg suddenly gone, almost slid off his chair and very nearly went under the table.

"Vanya! What on earth do you think you're doing?" Ukraine exclaimed.

Russia, his cheeks blazing, pulled himself back up, and tried, unsuccessfully to regain his dignity. He glanced at Latvia, but her face was fixed and she showed no indication at all that anything untoward had happened.

"I heard that Mr Switzerland wasn't happy and caught up with them..." Latvia said, she looked across the table at Russia, who was shuffling in his seat and then she took a look under the table. Her legs were tucked up under her, Lithuania's chair was empty (he'd got up to make coffee), Estonia's were fidgeting around, Ukraine's legs were demurely crossed, Russia's long legs were stretched out and he was twitching his huge feet, his army boots discarded and there was a hole in one of his socks.

She looked back up at Russia with a questioning look. He mouthed something at her. She ignored him and carried on, "He went all that way with his leg in plaster," she said, wonderingly. The fact that the Swissman had a leg in plaster because of her, she decided to omit.

"Yes, in pink stripy hospital-issue pyjamas," Ukraine said, then hurriedly, "... so I heard..." it was unnecessary, Russia wasn't listening. He straightened up, raised his eyebrows at his little lover or what he hoped to be his little lover.

Latvia frowned, "So what happened then?" she asked Ukraine.

"He kicked Icy's arse all the way around Seychelles."

"With his leg in plaster?" Latvia said astonished, but then again, she thought, this was Switzerland.

Lithuania plonked a pot of freshly-brewed coffee on the table and said, emphasising every word, "Brothers can be very protective of their sisters," and looked meaningfully at Estonia.

Russia frowned, looked at Lithuania and then at Latvia.

Lithuania was not Latvia's brother, but Russia knew that the three Baltics thought of themselves as 'siblings' and protected and looked out for each other.

He mouthed 'Does he know?' at her.

'What?' she mouthed back.

'Does he know?' Russia mouthed again. Russia was hoping the secret was out and then there'd be no more sneaking around. And if Lithuania wanted a fight, well that was okay. Russia was loath to hurt his eldest Baltic – Toris was the one who cooked him nice food – but he would kick his arse if he had to.

Latvia frowned, 'What the bloody hell was he on about?' she thought.

"Does he know?" Russia suddenly blurted out.

"Of course he knows, Vanya, keep up with the conversation. That's what we're on about. Icy and Lily eloped, Vash caught up with them and kicked Icy's arse. He's been trying to keep them apart ever since," Katya told him.

"She's been meeting him in secret, though," Latvia said.

"Noooooo, tell me more," Ukraine said, suddenly perking up.

"Well..." Latvia was about to explain her and Lily's clandestine midnight telephone conversations which largely revolved around their respective lovers when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Lithuania said, unnecessarily really as no-one else showed any signs of movement. "There's only me does anything around here," he murmured to himself, "I'm like... Cinderella. Ha! Maybe this is my handsome prince?"

It wasn't. Stood on the doorstep were three heavily-built men in uniform. They had faces you could break a brick on. Judging by the insignia on their overcoats, Toris realised with a sick feeling in his stomach that they were the KGB – the Soviet Secret Police.

* * *

><p>Hamburg, Germany<p>

Poland was dressed to the nines in a smart black dress and jacket, a floral scarf adorned his neck, elegant red stiletto heels (size 9) on his feet. He was dressed to impress, but also dressed for deception. He arrived at the smart elegant shop front, took a deep breath and strolled in. 'This is it,' he thought, 'in a few moments I will be rich'.

"Can I help you?" a rich, fruity, plummy English accent called from across the shop.

"Cedric Cameron?" Poland asked, smoothing his dress over his hips.

"Yes, that is I," the voice answered and the owner of the voice, a tall, immaculately-dressed man appeared from behind an antique chest of drawers.

"You were recommended to me by a friend," Poland said.

"I see. Are you buying or selling?" the man asked, his accent was comically 1930s BBC English.

Poland almost giggled and then stopped himself. 'Cedric' reminded him of England – when the latter Nation was trying very hard to be posh and proper. Until he reverted to default mode and began swearing and using cockney slang and calling everyone a 'bugger' or a 'sod'.

"Oh, selling," Poland answered and he peered around at the various object d'art, the furniture, Ming vases, 18th Century pottery and Persian rugs.

"Well, I see, I will warn you though, I don't buy anything younger than 100 years old, unless of course it is true art deco," Cedric said.

Poland simpered and batted his eyelashes. He himself was well over 500 years old and was ancient before most of the stuff in this guy's shop was even thought about.

"Well, let's have a gander, dearie," the man said.

'Dear God,' Poland thought, 'he's gayer than I am'.

* * *

><p>Bonn, West Germany<p>

In Germany's house, the want for material possessions was also on the mind of the now sole occupant. Prussia, his brother Germany still residing the psychiatric ward of Vienna Hospital, had pressing needs to attend to. He'd relied on his brother for money for so long, he was not allowed a bank account of his own and was now running out of the necessary funds for his beer, porn and take-aways.

This was not awesome, the awesome ex-Nation thought. It had been several weeks and he only had enough money to see him through a few more days of beer and then what? He needed money and fast. He'd ransacked the house top to bottom, but Ludwig's security conscious ways had meant that there were no bank details, visa cards or any other means of getting into the German's bank account. Prussia didn't even know which bank his brother dealt with.

Prussia still refused to think of his brother as anything other than his younger brother. It still rankled him that Germany had regained his memories of his time as Holy Rome and realised that he was the older brother. Being the younger sibling was not awesome or cool, Gilbert thought. Also, at first it had been great having his brother out of the way. He'd been able to bring back as many girls as he'd wanted without his brother's interference, shouting at him 'to be quiet and not get beer on the rug'.

He'd also been free to bring his motorbike into the house where it now stood, leaking oil onto Germany's living room carpet. Germany's three dogs were still at the dog kennels and Prussia had visited them, thought about bringing them home but then changed his mind when he realised they would need walking and feeding – this might interfere with his partying.

But after just three days of women, beer, watching as many porn movies as he could, and throwing food at the ceiling to see if it would stick, he'd got bored. There was only so much destruction you could do and besides it wasn't half as much fun without his brother's disgusted reaction.

Prussia now sat with his embroidery and his Jane Austen novel (he would kill anyone in an instant if they came upon his secret hobbies) and thought up a cunning plan. He needed an easy way to get money. It didn't occur to the Awesome One to get a job. It was all Lithuania's fault that his brother was currently restrained in a straitjacket. If the Lithuanian hadn't punched Germany for telling him not to smoke, then he, Prussia would not be looking at a future with no beer. Denmark could help him, he thought, but then remembered that poor Den was under house arrest at Finland's house.

Revenge, he thought, revenge on Lithuania. But no, he actually liked Toris. Now, the big commie bastard, he hated him. Hmm, now then, the wheels in Gilbert's brain started very slowly to turn. It was not enough to just prank call the fat Russkie, no, he was going to get money out of him. Even if it meant rubbish rubles. But how... and then it hit him as Gilbird cheeped in his ear. "Yes!" he yelled. "It could work, haha! I'm so awesome! I could do this... I just need ... a cage, some catfood and my van..."

Prussia loved his van, sure it still had 'Sanitary Hygiene' printed on the side – despite his attempts at a paint job – Mystery Inc. style, the letters were still visible. He grabbed a big tin of black paint and proceeded to paint over the letters with the words 'Animal Control' – in both German and (here Prussia had to swallow his rising bile) Russian.

"Awesome!" Gilbert yelled to no-one, this was going to work, he was sure of it. "I'm going to get my revenge and get me some cash. Kesese!"

* * *

><p>Back in Hamburg, the art dealer was indeed 'having a gander'. At first, the dealer was sneeringly and sarcastically polite about the contents of the suitcase. He took the ten canvases out one by one – using thumb and forefinger. They were all smelling of smoke and Poland had spilled mascara on one of them.<p>

Poland sat on a nearby Chippendale chair filing his nails. He had not really looked at the 'pictures' since taking them from Austria's office desk drawer. He'd quite liked one of them – a painting of edelweiss. There was one he'd been severely tempted to stick pins in – a painting of Austria dressed in medieval 'crap' (Poland's words) with the words 'Count Edelstein von Habsburg' underneath. There was also a painting of Vienna, a rather shit one (again, Poland's words) of Austria's mansion, a grim battle scene with some dude in armour who looked weirdly like France (Poland had laughed at that one, but had not properly looked at it, he hated battle scenes – he'd seen too many in his lifetime), a rather risqué one of a topless woman ('tut tut,' Poland had thought), one of some hunting dogs and various 'crap' ones of Austrian mountains and a detailed painting of the Matterhorn. 'When you've seen one mountain you've seen them all,' Poland thought. All in all, very boring, but they should be worth a couple of grand, he thought.

Cedric Cameron pulled each canvas out, shaking his head, "Yes, yes, most amateurish. Hmm a bad painting by a good artist, but it is damaged... hmm, a good painting by a bad artist..." and then silence.

Poland blew the on his nails, sighed and looked up, "So? How much?" he said impatiently.

The man had stopped dead and was staring at the last painting, "It can't be... no... I'd heard rumours..." he murmured to himself.

"How much?" Poland insisted. 'God this guy was weird.' Poland knew enough about make-up, fashion, battle tactics, how to run an underground resistance under occupation and how to look good in a skirt, but he knew absolutely nothing about art.

The man looked up, his face was flushed and he had a weird manic look in his eyes. Rather like the look Belarus had when she found her brother inebriated and on the floor unconscious. "I think I may need to have a closer look at this one," the man said holding up the 'shit' battle scene.

Poland shook his head, "Not possible, bro. I need to get going. Places to go, people to see. If you don't want it then someone else will."

Cedric Cameron panicked, he had a feeling this was the holy grail of the art world, there in his hands. The fact that it was possibly smoke-damaged meant nothing. It was still worth millions. He just had to have it valued. He doubted though that the young woman had any idea what it was (Poland's disguise was holding up well – although he had to keep adjusting his chicken fillet bra). In fact he knew that there was no way she could. The rumours of a lost Da Vinci had been doing the rounds for years in the art world. It hadn't really reach the ears of the general public.

"A thousand dollars for the lot." The man said desperately.

Poland shook his blond head, pouted his red lips and crossed and re-crossed his gorgeous fish-net stocking-clad legs, "I don't think so, they're worth more than that, I'm not, like, stupid."

"Five thousand."

"Excuse me, while I go and see Herr Bergerbank down the road..."

"No... erm ten thousand, my final offer," the man was sweating now, but Poland didn't notice this.

Poland considered this. He thought the paintings were a pile of shit and he doubted they were worth a thousand. He certainly did not expect ten thousand. He thought that the man was dazzled by his gorgeous legs.

"Well... I suppose... seeing as I have urgent business to attend to... ten thousand it is."

The man almost jumped for joy, but found his hand grasped by a very strong, rather big (for a woman anyway) manicured hand. "Cheque? Er Miss...?"

"Cash. And it's Miss Lucinda Lovelace," Poland exclaimed happily. Now he and Lithuania could start a new life together away from that fat commie dude. 'I can rescue him from his life of servitude,' the Pole thought.

**Author's Notes:**

**Have a gander – have a look at something (English slang)**

**Bonn – the capital of what was (then, i.e. early 1980s) West Germany**

**The Matterhorn – a mountain on the border between Switzerland and Italy, one of the highest peaks in the Alps.**

**Mystery Inc. – refers to the Scooby Doo gang's van**

**'how to run an underground resistance under occupation' – the Polish resistance movement aka the Home Army was the largest underground resistance movement in Nazi-occupied Europe. As a side note, Poland never surrendered to the Germans during the 2nd World War. I reckon Poland is actually the biggest bad-ass in the whole Hetalia universe.**

**Sorry there's a lot of re-capping from the previous story, but it's just to explain what our characters are doing at the moment and why... The plot will pick up I promise.**

**Next Chapter: A visit to the mafia, violence, IggyxBela and probably some France.**


	4. Invincible

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and not me.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited so early on in this story: citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx.**

**Warnings: Violence, BelaxIggy fluff**

Chapter 3 - Invincible

London, England

A calm scene of domesticity surrounded No. 69 Trafalgar Gardens. Belarus and England were happily baking together. Every so often they would stop, grin at one another and kiss sloppily. Floury handprints on their clothes bore testament to their unguarded passion, whilst Daisy the Labrador puppy scampered around their feet.

"Ah Bela!" England gathered the Belorussian in his arms and kissed her again.

"Arthur!" she squealed happily.

Certainly, if Russia and the Baltics had seen them they would have imagined that England was possessed by some dark magic. As it was, he wasn't, it was just plain and simple love.

Belarus had barely left his side since leaving Austria's mansion, apart from a quick visit to her brother's house to pick up some of her possessions. She'd finally realised that England was truly the man for her, he wasn't afraid of her and didn't attempt to run off. She didn't even need to use handcuffs or other restraints. She was going to have the big white wedding she'd always dreamt of, and there was no need for subterfuge, hallucinogenic drugs or chains. And the best thing of all was England's penchant for dressing up... She'd been a little confused at first with his habit of shouting "Agincourt" and "Waterloo" at the height of passion, but she was now used to it.

However, now she had something important to tell him. She felt some trepidation. She wasn't entirely sure if she was right, but if she was...

"Wouldn't it be nice to hear the pitter patter of tiny feet?" she said to him while he mixed up some virulent blue icing. Where on earth did he get this food colouring? Indeed, was it food colouring? He'd made a green omelette the other day. She suspected sometimes that Arthur was so magical, that he couldn't control it and it would 'leak out' from his fingertips causing the results of his cooking to come out in weird colours.

"Another puppy?" Arthur asked, "Oh yes, perhaps we could get a golden retriever."

"No, I was thinking of something else. I wasn't thinking of a dog."

"I'm not having a snake or a bloody bear..." England's imagination started to run wild as he imagined what kind of deadly pet his darling Bela would want.

"I wasn't thinking of a pet. Something with two legs..." she smiled at him softly.

"I'm not having your bloody nutcase brother living here," England said, putting his foot down and then seeing her shake her head, "I know he wants to live in a warm place and it's warmer than bloody Leningrad and I love you, sweetheart, but not that much."

"No, idiot. Big brother has huge feet not tiny feet," Belarus said, trying to explain to a confused England, "Katya has little feet though..." she added unhelpfully.

"Well, she's okay, she can visit, but..."

"Stop talking about feet, Arthur."

"You brought it up."

"I mean how would you feel if you had a colony again?"

"I'm not having Peter here. He's a nightmare. He plays truant from school and besides the bloody Vikings will be here all the time. He likes living with Sweden and Finland. He wanted to live with them." England said, partly upset by this fact, but partly relieved.

"I don't mean him..." Belarus sighed, 'how stupid was he,' she thought.

"Seychelles? I heard she's speaking to no-one after Switzerland beat up Iceland and then dragged little Lily home. Apparently they made a right scene at the airport."

"I didn't mean Seychelles, either. Arthur, I meant that I'm..."

"Hey! Dudes! Boring baking?" a very loud voice broke in, closely followed by its owner. America, his voice like a foghorn and totally ignoring the intense atmosphere, slammed open the kitchen door and scooped Daisy up into his arms.

"Alfred, who the bloody hell invited you over?" England asked, very much annoyed. He then turned to Belarus and whispered, "You didn't bloody mean him did you?"

Belarus shook her head and glared at the American. She felt tears prick her eyes, for some reason her moods had been up and down, one minute euphoric, the next depressed. She grabbed Daisy from the American and took herself out of the way.

"Dude, she still here?" Alfred asked, unnecessarily.

"Yes I'm still here and I can hear you..." Belarus shouted from the next room.

"All bloody London can hear you."

"Hell, yeah!" America shouted.

"What do you want?" Arthur said, much annoyed. What was America doing here anyway. There was no meeting scheduled for a week and he hadn't been due to visit.

"Are they muffins?" Alfred asked, extending a hand to pick one of the bizarrely shaped cakes up.

"No, there're buns," Arthur answered.

"They look almost normal," Alfred said, wonderingly.

Belarus had come back in, after wiping her eyes, and mindful of the fact that America had saved her and England's life in the fire and was also Arthur's adoptive child/brother whatever he was (she was unsure about the relationship between them) suppressed the urge to impale Alfred with a cake slicer.

"I brought your Christmas present," Alfred said, still examining the bun as if it were a scientific discovery.

"You're a bit early, it's weeks away," Arthur said.

"Yes I know." As it happened, Alfred had visited England because he wanted his advice – advice regarding Belgium.

"So where is it?" England sighed, with a sense of dread. One year he'd received a one-way ticket to Florida, which he'd promptly thrown in the bin (he hated Disneyland with a passion), another year a 'I heart NY' t-shirt and another year an awful mass-produced souvenir of the Statue of Liberty.

"Here..." America handed him a smartly wrapped up box with a bow on top, "Open it now."

"Why?" England asked, instantly suspicious.

Belarus watched on, despite her initial jealousy, she was intrigued.

"Hey dude, just open the box, already!"

"Oh God..." England sighed as he opened the present... a Big Mac. "Thank you..." he sighed.

"If you don't want it, I'll eat it, woof!" America yelled.

England handed him the Big Mac and watched in fascination as the American Nation wolfed it down in two gulps and then helped himself to the huge 2 litre bottle of cola that England kept in his fridge just for America's visits.

"So why are you really here?"

"I need your advice, man," America answered, almost draining the bottle.

"About?"

"Love, dude," America said.

"Oh dear Lord," England sighed and switched the kettle on for a 'brew'.

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

The three KGB officers stood in Russia's kitchen. Normally they would have been too scared to enter the house but for reasons that will become apparent, they were feeling much braver.

"Lieutenant Popemoff, Lieutenant Killemoff and I'm Captain Nijinsky," the most senior officer introduced them.

"Isn't that the name of that ballet dancer?" Ukraine asked.

"Da, it was, Katya."

"Are you a ballet dancer?" Ukraine asked the KGB Officer.

"Da, he is, he has the poise for it," Russia laughed.

The KGB Captain glared at his Nation, something that usually resulted in losing a limb. But with the information he had, he didn't feel as scared as he probably should have.

Also Russia's appearance that day was not indicative of his usual intimidating self. He'd been trying to make an effort lately – along with his diet (to get rid of his 'paunch' - Poland's words) – to appear more approachable. So he'd stopped wearing his uniform unless he was 'on the job' – i.e. being Russia. Instead he was wearing a light blue hand-knitted jumper with sunflowers on it to match his scarf and black combats. He didn't have his army boots on either and there was a hole in his left sock the size of Jupiter.

The KGB exchanged glances, one of the Lieutenants smirked at the sight of the 'Great Russia' with a hole in his socks. It was to be his last.

"There were reports that you were injured," the KGB Captain ventured.

"Wut?" Russia did not like the KGB. They hurt his 'children' – in his head the people of Russia were his children.

"You got injured in a fight?" Captain Nijinsky looked him up and down. Russia did not look very injured. There'd been a lot of excitement at KGB Headquarters when the report had come in from the criminal underground that Ivan Braginski had been 'beaten up' by the Mafia. He'd kicked their arses so many times that the powers-that-be had been like giddy schoolboys when they'd found that their Nation could actually be harmed. Perhaps now, they thought, he can be controlled, or at least they no longer needed to be afraid of him.

Russia frowned and the temperature started to drop. Boris (Russi-cat), always a good barometer of Russia's ever-changing moods, yowled and ran out. 'How did they know he'd been in a fight with Austria?' Russia thought, 'who told them?' He glanced around at his Baltics, who had all starting backing into a corner.

The Captain, his confidence soaring, particularly as Russia wasn't even carrying his faucet pipe, said, "Well, this guy, Big John," here the Captain glanced at his notebook (Estonia and Ukraine exchanged worried looks), "said that they kicked your arse."

Ukraine was about to say something along the lines of 'but _I_ kicked_ their_ arses' but Estonia put a warning hand on her arm.

Lithuania edged around the room and tried to unlock the kitchen door, beckoning Latvia to follow him. Latvia had done what she usually did when there was trouble, made herself very very small and crammed herself into a corner, trembling.

There was a dangerous rumble emanating from Russia's chest, "No-one beat me up," he said slowly. "Who spreads these lies?"

The temperature began to drop lower and Latvia started to shiver. Toris was frantic now, and he was trying desperately to unlock the door but the key didn't seem to want to go in the keyhole.

"Well, that's what they said. They kicked your arse," one of the Lieutenants said and very unwisely added a small laugh.

"You think this is funny?" Russia growled.

The KGB did not get chance to comment on their collective sense of humour. Russia grabbed hold of the unfortunate 'giggler' who had had the stupidity to display a humorous side and slammed him into the furthest wall. The body slid down the wall, taking half the plaster with it and then lay inert.

"That was funny, da?" Russia said chirpily, his purple aura blazing, his eyes darkening.

The two remaining officers attempted to defend themselves by adopting self-defence poses. Russia face-palmed one – the man's head snapping back painfully, his nose breaking with an awful crunching sound before Russia followed it up with a punch to the man's stomach.

"That was even funnier," Russia exclaimed, "Why are you not laughing, Comrade Captain?" he asked the remaining KGB Officer who was now panicking and trying to free his gun from its holster.

Toris was also panicking, he'd finally got the key in the keyhole and had turned it but the bloody door would not open.

The Captain finally freed his gun and took aim, which was another mistake. Russia grinned happily, picked up the antique silver coffee pot from the table and brought it down on the man's arm with a sickening thud.

"Tut tut, that was a shame. It was a present from Tsarina Alexandra," Russia said, genuinely sad as he looked down at the now bent coffee pot.

Captain Nijinsky fell to the floor nursing his broken arm, his gun lying uselessly on the floor.

"Here, I will help you up," Russia purred in a feather-soft tone, and picked the man up by his neck with one hand, "It is time you were leaving."

Toris wrenched open the door just as Russia threw the man and, with exquisite timing, the body sailed through the open kitchen door and landed with a horrid thud.

Russia smiled happily and rubbed his hands together, "Perhaps you should make more coffee, Toris?" He sat himself down as if it were a normal everyday occurrence to have two bodies lying on his kitchen floor, took up his newspaper again and ruminated on this 'Big John' person.

Latvia, still shaking with fear, sidled out of the room and then made a dash for the stairs. She only just made it to the bathroom before being violently sick.

Russia sighed, "Did I scare her, do you think?" he asked his sister, genuinely worried.

Ukraine just shook her head as Estonia went to ring for an ambulance or more appropriately, a mortuary van.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

**Buns - an English term for cupcakes or muffins (except that they're smaller than muffins) - for my American readers.**

**Nijinsky – Vaslav Nijinsky – a very famous Russian ballet dancer.**

**Tsarina Alexandra – Alexandra Feodorovna Romanova, Nicholas II's spouse and last Empress of Russia.**

**Next Chapter – a visit to the Mafia, more violence, France. (All this will make sense in a couple of chapters – it's all part of the plot – trust me, I'm a doctor (actually I'm not).)**

**PS I can imagine Russia beating someone up with a coffee-pot. His choice of weapons will get more diverse and bizarre as the story goes along - I'll see how many I can work in.**

**Feel free to comment/review.**


	5. Notorious

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx.**

**Warnings: Crack, cartoon violence, swearing, France, Agony Aunt Iggy**

Chapter 4 - Notorious

Leningrad, Russia

Russia was not happy. And when Russia was not happy, the whole world, or certainly the people in his immediate surroundings were not happy. Who was this 'Big John' person anyway? Big John's Pink Flamingo Hideaway? What kind of a gay place was this? And why did the words Pink Flamingo ring a bell? He was annoyed for many reasons. That a rumour was going around Leningrad and the KGB that he'd been beaten up – by mere humans no less and that Estonia and Ukraine probably knew more about it than they were letting on. But apart from by standing over both of them and threatening them, he would not be able to get anything out of them (he was loath to do this, Ukraine was difficult to intimidate) and he was also steaming because he'd upset his 'little sunflower'. She seemed to have gone into default 'scared' mode and would barely look at him. Just as (he thought) he was making some progress with her.

So he looked up this Pink Flamingo Hideaway in the Leningrad phone book and, clicking his fingers at Toris, picked up Mr Pipe, threw on his coat and stormed out of the house, Toris followed with a sense of foreboding.

Estonia and Ukraine exchanged fearful looks.

"I hope to God, they don't tell him about my deals, otherwise I'm done for," Estonia said.

* * *

><p>London, England<p>

"... So what do you think I should do?" America asked England, poking the icing on the buns with his index finger, his mouth full of Haribo starmix sweets (he had a weakness for British confectionary).

He had no idea really why he was asking England for love advice. But then again he didn't know who else to talk to. There was his brother, Canadia of course, but he seemed more and more distant and unavailable. Since he'd brought this maid, Aveline or whatever her name was to work for him, Alfred had barely seen him. There was France of course, but that Nation's advice was always the same – "You should declare your love to the world. Ask them to show you their butt." America did not think that this would go down too well with a woman of Belgium's refined taste.

"I've rung her loads of times but she says she's out," he mumbled naively through a mouthful of heart and star-shaped sweets.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Arthur said.

"How's that going to help me? I mean I offered to take her to the movies..."

"Yes, but you talk all the bloody way through. That time you took me to see Ricky..."

"Rocky."

"Yes, what a load of rubbish."

"And I offered to buy her a Big Mac," Alfred carried on.

"Well, how on earth could she resist you?" Arthur said sarcastically. "You have to treat a woman with consideration and respect."

"I rang her and told her I had tickets for Disneyland," Alfred continued. He really could not understand it. Wasn't he the Hero? He had the looks, the money, the body. He generally didn't have much trouble attracting women.

"You need to grow up. She said you were immature?" Arthur said.

"Yes, I mean honestly! That's just below the belt. I'd just got to level 10 on the Jedi trainer light sabre game. That's not for kids."

"Dear Lord."

"I know, right? And I beat Tony all the time at Space Invaders."

"I think perhaps what she means is that she wants you to grow up."

"What? Be a stuffed shirt like you? Go to bed at 10 o' clock with cocoa, smoke a pipe and wear slippers?"

"I'm not a stuffed shirt! I resent that analogy." However, Arthur did not deny the allusions to cocoa, pipe-smoking or wearing slippers.

"I didn't say you were an anagram."

"Analogy, it's a ... oh I give up. Perhaps if you weren't dressing up all the time as an Earl of the Sixth or whatever, she might take you more seriously."

"A Lord of the Sith. And I don't dress as a Sith Lord, that's the baddie. Fat commie dude would be Daft Aida. I'm Luke Skywalker. Get with it, Arty."

"Daft Aida?

"Oh okay, Darth Vader dude."

"I mean what on earth are you supposed to be today?"

"Indy."

"What?"

"Indiana Jones... I got the hat from Austria."

"You mean Australia?"

"That's what I said."

"I like the whip..." Belarus butted in, pouring another vodka martini for Arthur. She herself was drinking water. However, as it was the same colourless hue as her precious vodka, Arthur and Alfred didn't notice.

"Thanks, chick. Besides, what in the name of Obi-Wan, are you wearing?" Alfred addressed this last remark to Arthur.

"Erm, well..."

"I think he looks dashing," Belarus said, gently brushing flour off Arthur's tuxedo. Arthur had found that Belarus liked it very much when he 'dressed up'. They'd done the pirate costume, the Victorian gentleman, the English policeman's uniform and weirdly, Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh I get it, you're a waiter," Alfred said, most puzzled. The American loved dressing up – if he wasn't in his aviator flying jacket, he was dressed as a superhero. But he was unused to seeing Arthur dressed up – the English Nation was usually dressed in his boring middle-aged suit and tie.

"I'm not a bloody waiter!"

"A penguin?"

"I'm Bond, James Bond..."

Belarus swooned and leaned into Arthur and murmured, "Oh James... are you going to come up in a minute and interrogate me for secrets?"

"His name's Arthur..." Alfred shook his head. Honestly, these foreigners he thought, chick didn't even know Arthur's name.

There was a knock on the door. This time, Daisy, the tough guard-dog did actually bark which was ominous in itself.

"Who the bloody hell? Okay okay, Daisy, calm down..." Arthur got up, swayed a little. He was less used to vodka than he was to rum, which wasn't saying much, but it seemed to please Bela. However, to her disappointment he couldn't drink vodka neat - he tended to mix it with martini – or sometimes, to her absolute horror – with blackcurrant Ribena.

"Honhonhon, mes amies. How sweet this is!" came a silky voice from the door. "Ah petit chien. So cute. So adorable. So... argh! She bit me!" France started hopping up and down.

"Good dog, good dog. Here, have a biscuit," England was ecstatic. He'd actually spent the last month training his dog. Not house-training, not walking to heel, but to bite and growl whenever she heard a French accent.

But it was probably not so much the French accent that made the dog bite. Dogs are very sensitive creatures to moods and perhaps the clever dog sensed that France's intentions towards his master and mistress were not entirely benevolent (as a side note, Belarus loved being called a mistress).

The dog, probably possessing the highest IQ in the household, was entirely correct. Unfortunately, before Daisy could warn her master that the strange-smelling Frenchman was going to do something nefarious, she was picked up by her mistress and taken into the living room and given a doggy-chew.

Daisy barked and barked, "Dad! Mom! He's up to something! I don't like that man! His hands smell funny and he looks at Dad funny like that sex-mad Alsatian in the park looks at me!" (In doggy-eze of course, Daisy can't actually speak.) Stupid humans, Daisy thought, and gave up and flung herself down with her chew.

France was indeed on a 'nefarious' mission. It wasn't just England who could do magic and France had visited Norway and Romania – still on their 'honeymoon' in Bucharest and procured a potion. Said potion had been decanted into a rather nice bottle of Stolichnaya. 'He will be mine,' France thought. 'Oh yes, get that Belarus out of the way and he will come running back to me.'

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

Russia's black Volga pulled up outside 'Big John's Pink Flamingo Hideaway'. There was a sign outside that read 'Best Nightclub in Town'. Russia had no idea what that meant. Do people go to a special club at night, what about in the day? He was about to ask Toris what he thought, but then promptly forgot when a very ugly face appeared in the small hatch in the door at Russia's knock.

"What the hell do you want?" the ugly face asked.

"That is not very nice," Russia answered, "Is there a Big John in?"

The ugly man told Russia, in so many words, to go forth and multiply and slammed the hatch shut.

Russia frowned. He wasn't used to people telling him to go away and procreate. Russia stepped back, rummaged in his coat and brought out a pickaxe.

"I do not like rude people, do you, Toris?" Russia asked the Lithuanian, and proceeded to hack at the door.

Lithuania sighed and wished to God he was elsewhere, anywhere.

It took three hacks and the door was then karate-kicked down by Russia's size 14 boot.

The man on the other side of it was trampled as Russia promptly stomped over the door and entered the establishment.

"Hmmm, I do like the colour scheme though," Russia exclaimed happily looking around at the blood red walls. Russia's happy grin turned to a look of puzzled concern at the assorted young girls cavorting in various states of undress on the stage.

"What the hell? You don't look like you've come to audition as a stripper?" a man in a very badly fitted suit who had been leering at the girls said very stupidly to Russia.

"Nyet. I am not," Russia indicated the girls on the stage who were all trying to cover themselves up, and, sensing trouble, get out as quickly as possible, "Those girls look a little cold, it is not good to wander around in your underwear in December, nyet?" Russia said, obviously perturbed.

"Mind your own business," the man said rudely and then added to Toris, "Hey though, you're a nice little thing..." and indicated the Lithuanian's shoulder length brown hair, currently tied up in a plastic band.

Russia frowned, looking the man up and down and then said simply, "I don't like you."

The man was about to say something else but was karate-chopped in the neck by Toris. He hated being mistaken for a girl. He knew his hair was long, and he often tied it back into a pony-tail – usually when he was cooking.

Russia nodded in approval and waved to the girls as they hurried off stage, "Do svidanya, ladies," he chirruped.

"What do you want?" Three men in suits – very badly-fitted suits - stepped out of the shadows. "What happened to Mikhail?" one of them said indicating the prone, unconscious body of the victim of Toris' ire.

"We didn't like him," Russia smiled. "Are any of you Big John?"

"We work for him, what's it to you?"

"You are very rude. You should learn some manners." Here, Russia grabbed one of them by the neck and slammed him to his knees, "Perhaps you should apologise, nyet?"

The man finding himself held down by a hand with an iron-like grip, gurgled, "Let go of me!"

The other two men looked on in horror and then stared at Russia. Russia had a maniacal grin on his face, his purple aura was blazing and he looked as if he'd just stepped out of Satan's limousine.

One of them said, "Oh God!" and started to get his gun out.

"You believe in God? Very soon I will move you closer to Him," Russia chirped, his high voice at total odds with his demonic appearance. He shoved the kneeling man down so hard his neck snapped like a twig – what Ivan would have proudly called a 'Braginski Special' and then frowned at the gun pointing at him.

"Ha! Put your hands up. Both of you!" the man said.

Russia raised an eyebrow. Toris sighed, this was not going well, he thought. Resignedly he put his hands in the air but was not in the least surprised by the next events.

Russia reached inside his coat and pulled out ... a block of cheese. Russia sighed. This is what comes of rushing and not properly looking in your pockets before you put your coat on. It smelt a bit too. He wondered vaguely how long it had been there. Whilst he brooded on why he had cheese in his pocket, the man with the gun laughed.

"Haha! What are you going to do with that? What an idiot!"

Certainly, Russia did look 'idiotic' - for a few moments he'd got distracted and was looking at the cheese in his hand, scrambling through his torn memories as to why it was there.

Toris shook his head - that was the wrong thing to say. He'd never known anyone like his boss for killing or injuring people with so many diverse objects. A chip shop fork, a spoon - he'd once seen his boss strangle a person with a set of earphones. That person didn't live.

Russia frowned. The cheese had obviously gone off now and couldn't be used for anything. He wondered if he'd put it in his pocket thinking it was chocolate? He liked carrying food around, along with his vodka.

Then, he suddenly snapped back to the present and with unerring aim and inhuman force, he threw the one pound block of solid cheese at the man's head promptly rendering him unconscious.

"What the bleeding hell?" a voice yelled.

A large man who was probably slightly less ugly than the others came down some steps, obviously from some office somewhere. He was wearing a slightly better fitted suit and had a fat cigar in his mouth.

"He beat them up, boss," the remaining man said, rather unnecessarily, pointing at the two bodies.

"Da, I did. Are you Big John?" Russia asked.

"Yes, I am. What's it to you?"

"I am Big Ivan. General Ivan Braginski," Russia said simply.

"Shit," Big John said.

"Da," Russia agreed, the smile never leaving his face, and pulled Mr Pipe out of his coat. (At least it wasn't a bar of chocolate, knitting needles or a broken pen – all items residing in Russia's coat pockets – actually he could probably add these to the list of objects he'd injured people with.)

Big John and his henchman attempted to run. They did not get far. Russia, with his favourite weapon put paid to that silly idea.

Toris covered his eyes and then stepped back outside to wait by the Volga. He felt slightly sick.

* * *

><p>London, England<p>

"I have brought you a present, Miss Belarus," Francis purred.

"Oh, thank you... vodka," Belarus took the bottle from him. She wondered whether she should own up and tell them that she wasn't drinking vodka for the time being. But that would mean awkward questions. She decided to keep quiet.

"Well, I wanted to apologise for what I said..."

"You mean when you called me a cold-hearted bitch who could never make Arthur happy?" Belarus said, fingering a butter knife.

"Oui, but you have to understand..."

"Or that I will never love Arthur in the way that you love him?" Belarus said quietly, spinning the knife on its point.

"Oui, but you see..."

"Hahahaha! Francis and Arthur are sooooo gay!" Alfred yelled.

"Shut the bloody hell up. I am one hundred per cent heterosexual. I am not gay!" Arthur took the coke bottle from Alfred, slammed it back in the fridge and glared at him.

"Non, but he has slept with a man who is!" France exclaimed. He was about to carry on when he saw Belarus' murderous look, "I was joking! C'est amusant, non?"

"No, it's not," Belarus said, picked up the vodka bottle and waved it at Francis, "Thank you for the gift, but get out before I shove it up your puny French backside."

France squeaked, "Ah Biélorussie!" That threat did not sound inviting to the Frenchman and he was in no doubt that she would follow it through. It just stiffened his resolve that he would 'rescue' Arthur from her clutches.

"Yes, Francy-pants, just bugger off... but you can leave the vodka." England said, opening the door.

France swished his hair and minced past England. "I am here when you need me l'Angleterre. I am staying at La Bordello in Soho," he whispered to England and slipped a card into his hand.

"Of course you are, you bloody French pervert. Bloody hell, isn't that a knocking shop?"

"What's a knocking shop?" Alfred asked innocently.

"Never you bloody mind," Arthur said, slamming the door shut after the prancing Frenchman.

Belarus flung her arms around England, "You do not need him," she told him.

"I need another bloody drink, that's what I need," England said and opened the vodka.

"So I said to LouLou..." Alfred started to say.

"LouLou?"

"... Belgium, dude, keep up... You have to be a hero to go on the Magic Mountain log ride. I went on three times! Three times, dude! And I only threw up once. That's real bravery."

"Dear Lord."

* * *

><p>Russia's house, Leningrad, Russia<p>

It was late evening. Dinner had been cleared away, as well as the three bodies, and the usual evening pursuits were under way. Estonia and Lithuania were playing cards, Ukraine was knitting whilst Russia was trying, very unsuccessfully and as sneakily as he could, to get Latvia into his study and onto his lap.

She refused point blank when he indicated he wanted her to bring him coffee. And when he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her whilst she stood in the kitchen doorway calling for Boris – the blasted cat still hadn't returned since Russia's fight with the KGB – she'd flinched away and said "No," in a little scared voice.

Frankly, by now, Russia was getting fed up. It didn't occur to him that Lithuania had come back from the 'Pink Flamingo' nightclub and told them about Russia's fight. Also the fact that he'd come in with bloodied hands and red smears on his coat did not really aid his new romantic image. Latvia had been sickened and frightened. But Russia, fuelled by a litre of vodka, was largely oblivious to this. So when she tried to pull away, he clung on and pulled her as gently as he could back into his chest. But gentle to Russia is not gentle to a little Baltic. Latvia found it hard to breathe and she struggled fruitlessly. Russia murmured, in what he thought was his best seductive voice, "You will be mine tonight, Aija."

* * *

><p>Leningrad Hospital<p>

A large man, commonly known as 'Big John', local Mafia boss, head of the largest Mafia syndicate on the Baltic coast, was laid on a hospital bed. He'd just returned from surgery where he'd had to have several steel pins inserted in his broken legs. One arm was also in plaster and his head was wrapped in bandages. For some reason, when he'd mentioned the name Ivan Braginski, the local police were reluctant to take details. So Big John procured a telephone and made some calls. One such call was made to his cousin, Don Tortilla, the Mafia Don in Naples. This Ivan Braginski will wish he'd never messed with the Mafia...

**Author's Notes:**

**Haribo Starmix – a popular brand of confectionary/sweets in Britain**

**Ribena – a very popular fruit juice drink in Britain – comes in various flavours but blackcurrant is probably the most popular (it is very nice with vodka) but is normally diluted with water.**

**Bucharest – capital of Romania**

**It says in canon I believe that Norway and Romania are both capable of magic**

**Stolichnaya – a popular brand of vodka**

**Do svidanya – goodbye in Russian.**

**Volga – a popular car in Soviet Russia, also the name of a river. But Russia didn't arrive at the Mafia's nightclub on a river.**

**Chip shop fork – tiny little wooden forks given away in British Fish and Chip Shops – they are notorious for being extremely blunt and useless (unless of course you're Russia)**

**Knocking shop – slang British term for brothel**

**Naples - a city in Southern Italy**

**Feel free to review/comment/PM**

**Sorry for the long chapter - next one should be shorter**

**Next Chapter – more sexual tension – a wandering in the mind of Russia, also Prussia and his van**


	6. Kitty Kat

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx.**

**Warnings: Prussian stupidity, Russian angst**

Chapter 5 – Kitty Kat

Leningrad, Russia - Midnight

Prussia had driven all day, spent the remainder of his meagre Deutschmarks on gas and was now sat outside Russia's mansion in freezing cold waiting for his chance to pounce. He hated this freaking un-awesome country. It was always cold, always snowing and just looking at the fat commie bastard's house made him come out in hives. His plan now, after spending almost 12 hours zigzagging across Eastern Europe, bullshitting his way through borders and passing himself off as his brother, did not really seem as awesome as it did when he was sat in the comfort of his cosy basement.

He'd been sat outside Russia's mansion for an hour and there was no sign of life. His initial plan – to sneak in and take his victim – was scrapped. Of course just barging in was a no-go, Russia would pummel him into the ground. Not that he was scared of that big jerk, of course he wasn't, he was the Awesome Prussia after all, it's just he didn't want to have the inconvenience of a metal pipe around his neck again. He also considered sneaking around the back to get his victim, and had actually got out of the van and then quickly scrambled back in when a very large, distinct shadow had appeared outlined in the living room curtains. He recognised that shadow and almost puked up blood. He wasn't scared, of course he wasn't and anyone who said he was would get the awesome taste of his fist. He couldn't go back now, he didn't have enough money for the gas to make it back to Germany, so he waited.

* * *

><p>Inside the house<p>

All the Nations had gone to bed, apart from Russia who was now very drunk. After the events of the day, he'd proceeded to drink his way through a litre of vodka and was now starting another bottle.

There'd been a tense atmosphere all evening, Toris had returned from the Pink Flamingo Hideaway and proceeded to tell Ukraine, Estonia and Latvia about how Russia had beaten several Mafia men so badly they'd ended up in hospital.

Latvia had been horrified, "He killed them?" she had asked tremulously.

"Well they weren't looking too good when we left," Toris had said.

Ukraine had shaken her head disapprovingly.

When Russia had finally told 'his little Aija' that she would become 'his' that night, he'd meant it. But then she'd pulled away from him and then cowered when he tried to pull her back into his arms and then she'd ran back into the living room and stayed there, sitting as close to Ukraine as she could.

That's when it had hit Russia – like a blow to the chest, making his poor abused heart clench, she was afraid of him. Her widened eyes when she'd taken in his blood-stained coat weren't looks of admiration, they were looks of horror. He knew she was nervous of him, but when he realised that she'd actually cowered from him, he felt sick.

He took himself off to his study with his vodka and got steadily drunker and drunker. His emotions ranged from grief at her fear, to anger at his own stupidity. Why did he have to fall in love with her? What was he thinking? How had she got through his defences so quickly, so easily. That little slip of a thing, so small, so fragile, she'd lived in his house for so long as a boy and he'd pretty much ignored her. She'd been just one of his minions, a servant and then suddenly she was that little bright star, a shining beacon of light in the middle of the War that he'd lost and found again. It had been like losing a precious diamond and then after spending so long wandering around in darkness, discovering it again, glittering and beckoning to him. Russia sighed, he couldn't just lock his heart away again.

Then, as he took another swig of vodka, sheer frustration reared its head. After their all too brief love-making session in Vienna, Russia had found he couldn't wait to hold her again. After emerging into the sunshine after so long in darkness he didn't want to go back. And seeing his little sunflower every day and being denied her was driving him mad. There was only so much that early morning runs and tepid showers could do.

Finally, he staggered up the stairs, grumbling to himself.

* * *

><p>Prussia's van<p>

Prussia was humming along to the radio – Radio Finland – thank God he could pick this up instead of that shit All-Union Radio - which just played crappy un-awesome Russian composers and folk music and gobbed on about how good communism was. And Prussia was not, most definitely absolutely not, singing along to ABBA.

Suddenly the Prussian's head perked up as he saw his 'victim' padding gracefully down the path. "Aha! I'm going to get you!" Prussia jumped out of the van, picked up the long-handled net and stalked his prey. 'This is going to be so easy,' he thought.

It wasn't. Boris, Russi-cat, the huge Siberian grey, weighed in at a hefty 20 pounds and, like its owner was a good fighter. There was a massive yowl as the net went over the cat's head, but that wasn't the end of it. The cat grabbed hold of the net in its teeth, and then started to run, taking Prussia with it.

"Bloody... stupid... cat... get back here..." Prussia yelled as he tried digging in his heels as the cat ran down the road, however, his heels had no purchase on the icy slippery surface and he found himself practically ice-skating down the street after the moggy.

Eventually, Gilbert did what he should have done at the outset, he took off his jacket, still whilst being dragged along the road, and threw it over the yowling cat.

Boris, unable to see where he was going, fell head over paws and was finally entangled in the net. Prussia yelled a triumphant "Aha!" and, in between gasps, tried to pick the cat up.

For anyone watching, it looked remarkably like someone fighting with a sack of clothes.

Russi-cat fought like, well like a wildcat, and Prussia fell and slipped twice on his way back to his van. His hands were almost shredded, certainly his coat was when he finally slammed open the back door, unlocked the wire cage inside and practically threw the feline in.

That wasn't the end of it. Like a cat possessed, Boris threw himself around the cage, bouncing from one end to the other. Prussia tried desperately to start the van, but found the van rocking so much, he didn't dare drive it. Then came something he had dreaded since he'd tried to kidnap this deranged feline – a voice shouted, "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

* * *

><p>Inside the House<p>

Russia, now attired in blue fleecy pyjamas, flung himself into his bed with Mr Pipe. Most people slept with a hot water bottle (Latvia – it was cold in the attic), a teddy bear (England – although it was dressed as a London policeman), Mr Pillow (America) or a stuffed panda (China), Russia slept with his faucet pipe. You just never know when you might get attacked, Germany could invade or his little sister might try to drug and molest him. Old habits die hard. Russia was severely annoyed now. His huge king-size bed felt very big, very cold and very lonely.

'She loves me, she does. If I can get her alone like I did in Vienna...' Russia's thoughts drifted off into a little reverie and he flung himself back into bed, his hands laced behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. He thought, and not for the first time – it had plagued his mind every night since coming back from Vienna – that her bedroom was just above his. That she would be laid just ten feet above his head. Russia glared at the ceiling almost willing it to fall in so that she could land conveniently on his bed.

"Brrr... it's cold," he grumbled and tossed and turned, pulled the blankets further around him and imagined she would also be cold. That was it, something snapped in his muddled-up head and a decision was made.

* * *

><p>Outside the house<p>

Russia's next door neighbour, a little old lady who'd lived next door to the Arctic Nation for near on thirty years (she'd seen battles re-enacted in the back garden, a cross-dressing Pole dancing provocatively and, most recently, a naked heavily-built Russian running through the snow) had had enough. She'd been watching through her binoculars the strange, red-eyed, silver-haired man fighting with what appeared to be a bag and then getting into an Animal Control van. This didn't fool her. It was obviously not an official van and she could still see the very bad paint job underneath the lettering. Now the van was rocking to and fro and she imagined that something highly unsavoury was going on. So she decided to take matters into her own hands and came out, into the cold Leningrad night air, a pink dressing gown on, slippers on her feet, curlers in her hair, bearing a heavy wooden walking stick.

"You disgusting pervert!" she yelled at the startled Prussian.

"What?"

"Disgusting. Right here in the middle of the street..." she banged, with her walking stick, on the side of the van.

"Get out you perverts... this is a respectable neighbourhood."

The idea that any neighbourhood where Russia lived could be called respectable was highly doubtful, however, the old woman seemed to think it was.

"I know what you're doing in there..." she yelled.

"There's nobody in there," Prussia shouted back, in Russian, much as it made him sick to use that totally un-awesome language. The rocking of the van seemed to suggest otherwise.

"Are you German?" the old lady yelled at him (she was rather deaf).

"No, I'm Prussian," Gilbert answered, puffing up his chest with pride.

The old lady hit him over the head with her walking stick, "Bloody Germans, bloody perverts," she yelled again, hitting the side of the van.

This was too much for Gilbert, he couldn't beat up an old lady could he? He was severely tempted. "Stop hitting me, and stop hitting my van, I'm animal control, there's a pussy in the back of that van," he said.

The old lady renewed her assault on the Prussian, if anything, with more vigour, "Bloody pervert!" she yelled.

"Ow ow ow," Gilbert gave up and jumped into the van to escape the old woman's beating. What on earth possessed his bruder to invade this totally un-awesome psychopathic country in June 1941? In Prussia's head, all Russians were potential psycho killers.

He started the van and careered off down the road, narrowly missing the old woman who was still shaking her walking stick at him.

* * *

><p>Inside the house<p>

Russia stumbled along the hallway of his house, clutching Mr Pipe and hiccupping as he went. He was less than quiet, but like drunks the world over, thought that he was and kept shushing himself and, at one point, shushing Mr Pipe.

He needn't have bothered, Ukraine was snuggled up with Estonia (the latter Nation otherwise too busy to hear his boss sneaking around) and Lithuania was fast asleep – cleaning up blood and getting his boss out of the Pink Flamingo Hideaway had tired him out.

Russia had made a decision, 'She will be mine tonight,' he thought to himself and his confidence rising, borne of vodka, absent-mindedly clutching his faucet pipe, he started to climb the rickety wooden steps leading to Latvia's attic bedroom.

Each step groaned under his 200+ pound weight and he shushed at each creak. Finally, he reached the door to her bedroom, his imagination in over-drive – 'a sweet little heaven lies just inside,' he thought drunkenly.

**Author's Notes:**

**I think it states in canon (somewhere) that Prussia hates Russia so much that he pukes blood at the sight of him/whenever Russia touches him.**

**Its 1100 miles (or thereabouts) from Bonn, Germany to Leningrad, Russia, so it would no doubt take Prussia longer than 12 hours to drive. But hey, this is Prussia and his van is awesome, just roll with it.**

**It states in canon that Russi-cat is a Siberian Grey and I read that the upper weight for the breed is around 20 pounds. Obviously I made up the name 'Boris' – okay okay it's an author insert... but I thought that Russia and Baltics wouldn't just call it Russi-cat.**

**All Union Radio – radio station in Soviet Russia (I'm not actually sure if it did play 'crappy' Russian folk and classical music) also I'm unsure if Radio Finland could be picked up in Leningrad.**

**June 1941 – date that Germany invaded the Soviet Union**

**Next Chapter – Austria and Hungary domesticity, Romano, an escape... maybe**


	7. Assassin

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx.**

**Warnings: AusxHun domesticity, Romano & swearing**

Chapter 6 - Assassin

Vienna, Austria – the same night

Scaffolding now covered Austria's centuries-old mansion. The great once-stately home that had stood against sieges, battles and Italy's housework was missing its roof, most of its windows and its west wing was all but burnt away - the result of one portentous meeting between the Nations. The fact that the fault lay with a discarded cigarette thrown carelessly onto a box of fireworks combined with the incendiary properties of Jane Austen novels and embroidery did not really make any difference to Austria, or his insurance company or the Nations' governments who were all going to foot the bill for the extensive refurbishment that was now taking place.

A caravan stood on the estate, granted it was a luxury model with all the mod-cons, even a bathroom, but still a caravan nonetheless. Inside the caravan now resided the two Nations, Austria and Hungary. Austria had spent an idyllic few weeks recuperating from his duel with Russia at Hungary's small apartment in Budapest. However, he couldn't just leave the builders to get on with rebuilding his beloved mansion, so he'd returned to live on-site, along with Hungary who was determined that this time central heating and decent plumbing would be installed. She thought it was time Austria entered the twentieth Century.

They were now retiring to bed in the admittedly rather cramped bedroom of the caravan – it didn't have quite the grandeur or romance of Austria's four-poster bed and the floral curtains were ghastly, but Hungary wasn't complaining. Austria had done enough complaining for both of them, she'd thought. The final straw had been when he'd tried to cram a piano – an upright one thank goodness and not a grand piano – into the small confines of the mobile home. He'd failed of course, but hadn't stopped moaning about it. Hungary had forgotten during their time apart how much actual moaning her ex-husband was capable of.

"I'm sure it's there if you look," Hungary was saying to Austria, whilst brushing her long glossy brown hair.

Austria sighed, put down his bed-time reading material – the Financial Times, took off his glasses and settled back in the bed, "I've looked, Liz," he answered.

"Well, you need to look harder," Hungary said and climbed into bed next to her ex-husband.

"Hmmm, I know I left it there. I'm always careful where I put it," Austria answered.

Hungary took up the newspaper and started doing the crossword, "Well I suppose you haven't looked at it for a while. I'm sure I haven't seen it in ages."

"I know, love, it's not a very nice thing to look at."

"Not very nice? The thing's hideous," Hungary pronounced.

"Well I do think that's a bit harsh," Austria exclaimed.

Hungary sighed, her pen poised, "One down, five letters... stupid person..." Hungary took a sidelong look at her ex-husband in his stripy pyjamas and then said with conviction, "Moron."

"What?" Austria was confused.

"Three across, seven letters, strong emotion, drive, enthusiasm," Hungary emphasised the last word and pushed her ample chest out. 'What on earth was the point in wearing this lacy nightgown,' she thought.

Austria hesitated, "Erm, passion," he said finally.

Hungary grunted in reply and scribbled in the answer - her pen stabbing through the paper, "I suppose Spain liked it..." she said in a severely disgruntled voice.

"Actually he did... how strange."

"Indeed," Hungary said thoughtfully, "Five down, eight letters, thwart, fend off..."

"And I expect nobody realises that I've still got it."

"Frustrated..."

"That's too many letters, Liz."

"Really?" Hungary threw the newspaper down and crossed her arms, "Are you sure that you still have it?"

Austria ignored the question, his brow puckered, "I'll check again in the morning, it might be tucked away somewhere."

"Well, it's not very big is it?" Hungary said, turning over and snuggling down.

"No, it's easily hidden. I suppose it's the only redeeming quality about the damned thing."

"Size isn't everything," Hungary said with a sigh.

Austria wasn't sure what to think about that, "I'm sure you're right, Liz," Austria said worriedly, "But it did look rather magnificent erected over the fireplace."

Hungary sniggered into her pillow.

"You do know we're talking about that blasted painting don't you?" Austria said, snuggling down next to Hungary.

There was rather a long pause, "Yes of course."

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

Romano was on a mission. He could do this he really could, dammit. Sure, he needed the money, Veneziano had rung him asking him to send money and he would do this, he would be there for his little brother. He didn't approve of his younger brother staying for so long at the potato bastard's bed-side. Who cared if the big German idiot was Holy Rome or not? That wasn't anyone's problem. He didn't care that the German had to be restrained every day to stop him from charging around, waving 'Herr Shtick' at people, trying to invade smaller Nations and incorporating them into the 'Holy Roman Empire'. 'Dammit, the potato bastard needs to get into the twentieth century like the rest of us,' Romano thought.

He wasn't scared, he had enough dynamite, bullets, grenades ('throw the grenade not the pin, throw the grenade not the pin' he chanted to himself) to take over a small micro-nation.

He'd arrived at Leningrad Airport and strolled through security as nonchalantly as he could and then met his 'contact' a big Russian mafia 'dude' – Romano christened him 'ugly bastard' - who gave him a bag full of gear and the name and address of the poor unfortunate soul he was going to 'take down'.

Romano had often been hired as a hit-man by the Mafia. He had connections, he could get in and out of countries easily, and being a Nation he was virtually indestructible. However, his actual success rate was ... less than 1 per cent. In fact it was much lower than that. It was zero.

It wasn't his fault. If his targets were women, well he just fell in love with them. And, you can't hurt a woman can you? However, a few targets had been men and... well it wasn't his fault if the rifle had back-fired on him or that a dog had run in front of him as he'd been about to fire – you can't shoot a dog can you? He'd just been unlucky.

So, according to Don Tortilla, this was his last chance.

'I'm going to do this,' he thought, 'this time, I will take this one down.'

He had his disguises, different methods to try - he wasn't going to use his usual methods this time. He also had a new codename – the Jackal. He couldn't fail, not this time.

He sat in his crappy Avis car outside the address in the snowy Leningrad street and then, as an afterthought, took out the scrap of paper with the target's name on it. His eyes widened with shock. Oh shit oh shit ohshit...

**Author's Note:**

**Siege of Vienna – 1529 the Ottoman Empire attempted to capture the city of Vienna. It was the Turks' first attempt. (Austria held off the Ottoman Empire and was its main rival in Europe – stopping its spread for centuries – but couldn't quite stop them from taking over a large part of Hungary – presumably that's when Elizaveta went to live with Austria?)**

**Also I imagine Austria and Hungary acting like an old married couple..**

**Avis car – a hire car (Avis is a well known hire car company)**

**Next Chapter: RussLat angst, an escape – but by whom?**

**Quick updates I know – but this won't last – it's only because I'm on holiday at the moment.**


	8. Uprising

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: RussxLat fluffy angst (flangst?), swearing and Prussia**

Chapter 7 – Uprising (stop sniggering at the back)

Leningrad, Russia

Latvia had gone to bed early. After vomiting violently and then again after Toris had come back from the Mafia's den and told her and her fellow Nations about the fight – in awful graphic detail, she'd refused to eat dinner (she just couldn't stomach it and had gone off her food in recent days) and had spent most of the evening avoiding Russia's embraces.

All through their very brief affair in Vienna, which seemed to her now like a soft-focussed dream, the violence Russia was capable of had been pushed conveniently to the back of her mind. But here, in Russia's house, she had no choice but to face it. Her old fear of him had come back with a vengeance and although he had never deliberately hurt her in the past, his temper and strength frightened her.

She was now laid in bed staring up at the snow-covered skylight. She was also straining her ears. The house was eerily quiet. She thought she'd heard Ukraine's soft footfalls on the landing below and then a door had creaked shut and muted giggles. But the noise she was listening for could not be heard. Her bedroom was just above Russia's and she often heard his snoring during the night.

When she had first arrived in Russia's house it had kept her awake night after night and irritated her. Until Lithuania had told her, being the wise Nation that he was, that it was actually a good thing that Russia snored, because then the Baltics knew where the bigger Nation was and that he was asleep and, hence, relatively harmless. So, after this explanation, she came to regard the noise – which sometimes sounded like a low-flying jet, at other times like a freight train and other times made the whole house vibrate – as welcome. In fact, occasionally, she couldn't relax unless she heard it. Rather like one of those relaxation tapes with whale songs on it.

Latvia rolled over, snuggled down and tried counting sheep. Where was Boris anyway? The blasted cat hadn't come in when she'd called. It wasn't like him to be out all night, certainly not on such a cold night, unless he was hunting mice. She could usually count on the huge cat to keep her warm.

Then she heard the attic stair creak painfully and strange shushing noises. She dug herself deep down under the blankets, like a child hiding from the bogeyman, her breath catching in her throat. The door creaked open slowly and filling the doorway was Russia. Granted, he was wearing fluffy blue pyjamas and his hair was mussed up, but he was also clutching his faucet pipe in one hand and there was a purple aura shimmering around his broad shoulders (he'd stubbed his toe on the way up).

Latvia squeaked and buried herself back under her covers.

* * *

><p>Novogorod Street, Leningrad, Russia<p>

The Awesome Gilbert was driving through the streets of Leningrad and was getting lost. Of course he wasn't actually getting lost. The Awesome One did not 'get lost' he was taking the scenic route. Russi-cat had finally stopped yowled and seemed content to just tear up the pet blanket that Gilbert had kindly put into the cage into little shreds.

"I hate this bloody place," Gilbert said to himself. "Stinking Russkies... can't even... build... a ... sodding ... road..." at each pause Gilbert's most awesome van hit a pothole and then there was a bang.

"Noooooo!" Gilbert huffed and puffed and jumped out. This was just shite... he had a flat tyre. He stood for a minute, scratching his silvery-blond head and glared at the flat- as-a-pancake tyre, as if the thing would re-inflate just through the power of the mind. After all, Prussia as a Nation no longer existed but Gilbert did, purely through sheer willpower so surely a flat tyre can be un-flat by sheer willpower, right? Wrong.

* * *

><p>Back at the house<p>

"R... R... Russia," she stammered.

Russia smiled in, what he thought, in his little mixed-up head, was a seductive way. To Latvia it appeared like a frightening 'I'm going to kill you' grin.

Russia shut the door and said, "Shush," whether to her, to himself, the creaking door or to Mr Pipe, it's unclear.

Russia approached her bed and seemed to loom over her.

"You can't just..." she began falteringly.

Russia climbed into her bed, dropped the faucet pipe on the floor with a clunk and shuffled up to her.

"... get into my bed," she finished lamely.

It was only a single bed and Latvia found herself squashed up to him. He wrapped his arms around her as gently as he could. But, as stated before, Russia's idea of 'gentle' and Latvia's idea of 'gentle' did not tally.

"Eeek," she squeaked, "You're hurting me."

* * *

><p>Back to Gilbert and his awesome van<p>

Prussia knew that if his bruder was here, this would take just a few minutes, brilliant engineer and car mechanic that he was. However, Prussia was not. Prussia was good at fighting, vandalism, battle tactics, annoying people so much that they went into fits of rage, picking up women, drinking beer and being the most awesome person on the planet (he was a legend in his own head). However, Prussia was largely ignorant of the mechanics of motor vehicles and certainly did not know how to change a wheel.

"How hard can this be?" he said to himself.

He stood looking at said tyre and then rummaged in the back of the van to find the spare. Boris growled at him. Gilbert leapt back.

He was really wondering if kidnapping this animal was really a good idea. And then he realised something else, he'd forgotten to leave the ransom note.

"Bollocks," he said with feeling. His own were turning a Prussian blue now, so he sped up his rummaging and finally found, underneath a covering the fabled spare wheel. He just had to swap it...

* * *

><p>Back in the house<p>

Russia snuffled into Latvia's hair, "You feel so warm and soft," he murmured.

"No..." she whimpered desperately and tried, unsuccessfully to push him off. He felt huge in the confines of her bed and he'd shuffled himself on top of her, his weight pressing her down.

"I just need warming up..." he whispered into her hair. She'd allowed her hair to grow now and the soft curls just came down to her shoulders. He reached up and gently ran his fingers through it.

Latvia felt herself pulled more securely into his arms and she grabbed his shoulders and tried to push him off, "No Ivan," she said, fear spiking. She was scared, the day's events had rattled her, his purple aura still shimmered and Hungary's warnings kept going round and round in her head. She didn't trust him to be gentle.

* * *

><p>Gilbert &amp; his van<p>

Gilbert stood with the spare wheel in one hand and the jack in the other. He knew you used the jack to raise the vehicle so you could get the wheel off, but how and where to put the thing? He would have asked someone but there was no-one around and besides he was loath to ask an un-awesome Russkie for help.

He tried several times to shove the jack under the flattened wheel and pushing the handle up and down as if he were pumping for water. Nothing happened. There was a yowl from Boris as if the damned Russian cat knew. Cats can't laugh can they?

Prussia took to hitting the offending wheel with the jack in the vain hope that his awesome strength would make the thing come off. It didn't.

* * *

><p>Inside the house<p>

Russia hesitated, his hands moving lower so that they rested on her hips, gently stroking. Her body warmth had flooded the big Arctic Nation and he could feel his frozen hands and feet melting. "Hmm?" he hummed as he looked down at her.

"I can't... I'm er..." she faltered, thinking furiously and then thought up the ideal excuse, "It's that time of the month..." she whispered finally.

Russia frowned, confusion clear on his face, "It's the 14th?" He had no idea what the date had to do with it.

Latvia sighed and said with great emphasis in her voice, "... got the builders in..."

"Wut?" Russia was very confused now. What builders? They'd had to get some plumbers in when he'd destroyed the bathroom the other week, but no builders.

Latvia gave up, she'd forgotten that sometimes it was best when dealing with Russia to just be up-front and plain, "I've got my period," she said frankly and gave him a shove.

"Ooooh," he said. He gently kissed her and rolled off her reluctantly, almost falling out of bed.

"I could be your hot water bottle, da?" he whispered, scrambling back into bed.

Latvia relaxed a bit and shuffled around so that he was hugging her from behind. Her put his arms around her waist and pulled her back onto his lap tightly and gently rubbed her stomach.

"Vanya?"

"Da?"

"Did you bring your bloody faucet pipe to bed?" she whispered as she eased off his lap a little. 'Honestly, the big idiot,' she thought. Although that was the least of her worries, she was thinking about the little white... actually no scrub that, the huge whopping lie she'd just told.

Russia blushed, his cheeks burning and shuffled around a bit, loosening his grip on her, "Erm..." he stammered, wriggling a bit.

Latvia frowned, ignoring him, thinking furiously about dates, it was the fourteenth today so that meant...

"I told you everything would be okay," Russia said chirpily.

"Wut? I mean, er, what?" Latvia said.

"You know, in Vienna. You were a little worried and I told you not to worry and that everything would be fine," Russia answered her in a little happy voice. Then he gently snuffled her hair affectionately.

"Ooooh, right," Latvia said, not really listening, she was still doing the maths in her head, 'oh shit oh shit oh shit,' she thought.

Russia nuzzled her and grinned happily. All was well in his little happy place. On 'Planet Ivan', everything was hunky-dory, he had his favourite little Baltic in his arms, "I can wait," he whispered, "There's no rush. A few days, da?" he added as he drifted off in the arms of Morpheus.

Latvia waited, feeling Russia's grip on her relax a little, her brain whirring. 'I can't do this. I shouldn't have lied. But I shouldn't _have _to lie. When was the last time... oh no... He'll never let me go. Hungary said ...I can't be... actually I could be... I've been sick a few times... ohshitohshitohshit' all these thoughts whizzed through her head making her feel dizzy. She felt her body tense up a little as Russia rubbed her stomach gently and then she relaxed as she felt his breathing become steadier through the rise and fall of his chest against her back. Then he started snoring. It sounded rather like someone had started a chainsaw in her left ear.

She made a decision, whether it was the right one she was unsure. But it was borne of panic, fear and a horrible sense of helplessness.

Very carefully, she manoeuvred the arm that was flung over her from its position clasped around her waist and placed it carefully on Russia's side. He mumbled incoherently and Latvia froze. The redundant hand moved up and ruffled her hair and then stayed resting on her head. He kissed the back of her neck and then after a few sighs, his snoring resumed.

She held herself very still and resisted the urge to just leap out of bed, thus waking him or indeed, snuggling back into his warm lap.

Russia, however, probably due to a combination of vodka and fighting, started snoring again.

Latvia shuffled forward trying to ease herself out of his reach, his other arm still under her body. She froze again as Russia snorted, mumbled something that sounded like 'Riga' and rolled over onto his back, effectively freeing her.

She slid quietly off the bed and quickly, silently started dressing in her olive green combats. She located her old army knapsack and started throwing random stuff in – underwear, a spare sweater, her ABBA tapes, notepad and pen (a writer never goes anywhere without writing material) and finally Ivan's service revolver that she still possessed. She tried, vainly, to cram her sniper rifle in, but it wouldn't fit and regretfully she left it. She picked up her army boots and then glanced back at her sleeping boss.

Fast asleep on his back, his chest rising and falling, one arm flung over his head, the other stretched out in the void which she'd just recently vacated, his mouth half open as if catching flies, and golden lashes lying softly on his pale cheeks, he looked anything but intimidating.

Latvia had to admit that he was rather handsome - when he wasn't intimidating people, glowering, glaring, swearing, 'kolkolling', eating like a pig, throwing people into walls or through doorways. In sleep his features were much softer and his beige-blond hair had fallen messily over his eyes. 'He needs another haircut,' she thought.

Latvia shook herself out of her reverie and resisted the urge to jump back into bed with him. She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and brushed his fringe out of his closed eyes. 'Sorry,' she whispered.

Russia grumbled and rolled over. Latvia tucked the blankets around his shoulders and without a backwards glance, hitched the knapsack on her shoulder and stole quietly down the stairs. She paused at the bottom and pulled on her boots.

She trod carefully into the study and pulled aside a large painting of the Battle of Moscow revealing a wall safe, hoping that Estonia had not changed the combination. He hadn't. She turned the dials – 240218 and pulled it open, taking out one of the red exit Visas, one hundred roubles, a hundred US dollars and, as an afterthought, because it was there beckoning to her, Russia's Bank of Russia credit card.

She gave thanks to Estonia for thinking ahead and hoped she'd left enough money for him and Lithuania when the time came. All she had to do, she thought was get to the West, contact her publisher and claim her royalties from her Lucinda Lovelace novels, then she could set up home somewhere obscure. That was the plan.

Finally, she went to the coat closet and rummaged around for her padded winter coat. She shoved aside Russia's huge Red Army greatcoats, Lithuania's shabby winter coat, Estonia's remarkably smart overcoat, a Panda costume... wait what? She paused and then shook her head and finally found her coat, threw it on, paused one last time and in a moment of weakness took one of Russia's many scarves – a red one – and wrapped it around her. She then stepped out into the cold Leningrad air, closed the huge heavy door as quietly as she could and set off walking, her boots crunching in the compacted snow.

* * *

><p>Watching her with puzzled amber eyes, was a bad-tempered and very cold Italian, 'That's one of the trembling bastards,' he thought to himself and then corrected himself, 'That's the girly one... oh yeah, Latvia... maybe I should help her. She looks cold,' Romano thought. He was, despite his gruff and foul-mouthed exterior, a sucker for a pretty girl and he almost started the engine to go after her. He stopped himself, remembered his mission and snuggled back into his jacket, his hands tucked under his armpits trying to keep warm in this crap country. 'Not long 'til daybreak,' he thought, and then 'boom'.<p>

**Author's Note: I'm not sure if there is a Novogorod Street in St Petersburg – I made that up.**

**Morpheus – Roman God of sleep and dreams**

**Riga – capital of Latvia**

**240218 – combination of the safe refers to the date of Estonian Independence from Russia (the first time) 24th February 1918.**

**There were two type of exit visas in Soviet Union days – red – which gave the carrier permission to leave temporarily and green which mean you could leave permanently – and lose Soviet citizenship. I thought that Estonia being the clever man he is would have several such visas to hand if and when they were needed. An escape plan if you like.**

**Have caught up with all the chapters I'd got written down in longhand in my little notebook so am back to my planned chapters so updates will slow down. Will jog by next week with the next one.**

**Is this chapter too icky, fluffy? Please review, comment, correct, or just PM me... **

**Next Chapter: an unexpected alliance, panic and someone goes back in time... (not Doctor Who)**


	9. This Is War

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx and all my anonymous readers. If I've missed anyone out, PM me and tell me off.**

**Warnings: Irate Austria, Pirate England, France, sexual innuendo, Scotland, long chapter**

Chapter 8 - This Is War

Tuesday Morning

Vienna, Austria

Austria woke, irate and annoyed – actually his default mode. A weak wintry sun was just filtering through the virulent orange flowery bedroom curtains. Austria staggered out of bed ('double bed, ha!' He thought, 'I would say not' – he really missed his own four-poster) and banged into the vinyl-covered wall. He tried to carefully step around the bed, skidded on Hungary's silk underwear that pooled on the floor and stubbed his toe on the tiny fitted wardrobe. He stifled a yelp, worried he'd woken the sleeping Hungarian. She hadn't been in the best of moods the last week, particularly in the morning. Austria was worried she was going to leave him any day. It was only her presence that made his current miserable existence bearable.

The thousand year old ex-Empire staggered into the kitchen and attempted to switch on the kettle. He also, hoping that this simple act would cheer his ex-wife up, switched on the electric heater. He wore old stripy pyjamas, bed socks and a night-cap complete with tassel. He looked rather like Wee Willie Winkie. He located his glasses, put them on and looked out of the window overlooking the snow-covered grounds of his beloved estate. He hummed a small passage of Mozart to himself while he poured himself a cup of tea, however, what he saw out of the window made him jerk the kettle and water flowed over the cup and onto the floor.

"Nein!" He yelled and, completely flustered, pulled on his coat, tugged Hungary's pink floral wellington boots onto his feet, hardly noticing they were two sizes too small and hurried outside.

"Stoppen! Bitte! Nein! What are you doing?" he shouted, waving his arms in the air.

The builders ignored him. The huge digger continued its excavation and six feet of Austria's prized lawn was scooped up and dumped joining the rest of Austria's once coveted garden.

"Stoppen! My prized lawn!" Austria clambered down into the huge hole which almost came to his waist and was now at least ten feet wide and ten feet long.

The JCB driver stopped and the builders suppressed sniggers as the Austrian, still clad in blue stripy pyjamas, his blue velvet tailcoat and floral wellies (to say nothing of his nightcap) waved his arms around desperately.

"What's the problem?" the foreman said – a huge German by the name of Gustav (although that's not really relevant).

"Problem? Problem?" Austria's voice gained another octave, "This is the problem... a huge gaping hole in the middle of my prized lawn!"

"Orders," the foreman said simply as if that was the end of the matter.

Austria was really angry now, not that it took very much to make him angry. Sometimes just the sight of Gilbert's insolent face was enough to send the Austrian into spasms of rage. The builders had shown a complete and utter lack of respect towards him from day one and seemed to view him as some sort of comedy relief. On the other hand, after first wolf-whistling at Hungary and shouting at her to show them her 'assets', which had necessitated Hungary stomping over to them and telling them in no uncertain terms to drop their trousers and show her their 'tools', they'd treated Hungary with awesome respect and when she said jump, they all asked her 'how high?' and added a 'Miss' to be safe.

The wolf whistles had been transferred instead to Austria, particularly when he scuttled out of the caravan on a morning in his jimjams to procure the mail and the milk which was still delivered onto the mansion doorstep. He detested the builders with a passion bordering on mania.

"Miss Héderváry told us to do it," the foreman said as if that was the end of the matter.

This was another contention that Austria had with the builders. They called Hungary Miss Héderváry and treated her like a queen, whilst he was treated like a dim-witted nuisance and called him, to his shame, 'Woderwick' which they pronounced with a cringing lisp. He'd given up correcting them, he preferred instead to ignore them and pretend they would go away eventually.

The foreman nodded to the JCB driver to continue and Austria only just scrambled out of the hole before he got a metal shovel embedded in his head.

Dusting himself down he marched over to the foreman, "A hole? She told you to dig a hole?" he jabbed the man in the chest on each word.

"A swimming pool," Hungary shouted from the door of the caravan, "And stop shouting and get in here, you idiot."

The foreman grinned at Austria in what Austria thought was a very boorish manner, "This is not over," the Austrian vowed and turned to head back to the caravan, slipped on some mud and fell flat on his back. Ignoring the guffaws from the builders, and mustering up a thousand years of Hapsberg dignity, he straightened his coat and stomped back to the caravan.

Hungary waved at the builders, "I'll have lunch ready later, boys!" she yelled in a most uncouth manner, Austria thought.

The builders all waved back. It was hardly any wonder they did as they were told, Hungary was hanging out of the door wearing only a white lacy nightdress.

"A swimming pool? Liz? Why?"

"Because... it would be nice."

"I can't swim," the land-locked Nation said despairingly.

"At 1000 years old it's time you learnt."

"I don't like water. Swimming is just elegant drowning," Austria said pulling on his clothes.

"Now there's a thought," Hungary said.

The caravan door was yanked open after a very brief knock and Austria tried desperately to pull up his pants.

"Nearly there, Miss Héderváry! Heart-shaped?" The foreman asked, taking in her lovely figure.

Hungary nodded, "Oh yes, thank you Gustav. You're such a sweetie..." she answered and blew him a kiss.

The foreman leered at Austria whose trousers were still at half-mast and then slammed the caravan door shut.

"I hate that man," Austria groaned. Really there was no privacy to be had anywhere, the bedroom was too small to get dressed in and the rest of the caravan, apart from the bathroom where you could barely swing a cat, was open-plan.

"Shut up, Roddy, he's doing the swimming pool for free," Hungary said.

"Oh," Roderich perked up at this, "I suppose that's okay then."

Having breakfasted on croissants and coffee, Austria, now attired in more formalwear, i.e. his usual long navy blue coat, black velvet pants, waistcoat and cravat, but with one small difference, his green wellington boots, trudged through the mud to his mansion. He ignored the wolf whistles coming from the builders. One particular builder whose name appeared to be 'Mickey the Brickie' and had the look of Gilbert, in fact Austria could have sworn the impudent little swine _was _Gilbert's long-lost son, often shouted something witty at the aristocrat in an attempt to get a rise out of the irate Austrian. Austria wasn't disappointed, "Now then, are you going to play us some Chopin?" however, the insolent cur pronounced Chopin as 'chopping'. Austria cringed and strode on, he'd all but given up trading insults with such ill-bred and ignorant low-lifes.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile in London, England<p>

America woke up with a crick in his neck, slumped on England's couch with Daisy asleep on his chest. 'What on earth were they drinking last night?' he thought. He'd largely been drinking Budweisser whilst Arthur had been drinking vodka and Ribena. They'd had a game of monopoly, both getting drunker and drunker and arguing over the number of hotels Alfred had acquired and then England had started singing some weird songs about ships and sailing which he called 'sea shanties' and after that Alfred could remember no more.

Daisy jumped off his chest, he staggered to his feet and then he heard very out of tune singing emanating from England's garden, "We're going this way that way, forwards and backwards, over the Irish Sea... a bottle of rum to sooth my tum and that's the life for me!" the voice sang with gusto.

'He's still drunk,' Alfred thought as he wandered into the kitchen and attempted to plug the kettle into the silly English electric socket.

Belarus came in, she looked as rough as Alfred felt.

"Hungover?" Alfred asked her.

"No," she said, "Where is he?" she asked.

"Arty?"

"No... who do you think I mean?" she said sarcastically, "Ded Moroz?" Alfred frowned 'who was this dead Maury bloke', "Superman? Of course I mean Arthur, he didn't come to bed last night," she said worriedly.

Alfred opened the kitchen door and pointed outside. Leaping through it, waving a cutlass dangerously with no heed at all for health and safety, a feathered hat atop his head, a ruffled shirt, velvet pants and, weirdly, an eyepatch came England.

"Aharrr! Me merry hearties!" he exclaimed in a strange West Country accent.

"You're still drunk," Alfred stated, "What happened to your eye? Did you poke yourself with that sword thingy?"

"Cup of tea?" Belarus asked, she was relieved he wasn't in some sleazy hotel with France.

England swept off his hat and bowed to her, "Aye, you're a comely wench," he said and then suddenly he grasped her by the waist.

"Oh Arthur!" she exclaimed as he flung her over his shoulder.

Alfred shook his head, he'd never understand Europeans.

There was much yelling and shouting from the upper storey and Alfred put his hands over Daisy's ears. The ceiling light in the living room (which happened to be directly below Arthur's bedroom) swung dangerously.

"Hoist the main sail!"

"Oh Arthur!"

"Anchors away!"

Alfred put Daisy's lead on her and set off down the garden path, blushing madly, "Come on, Daisy, you don't need to hear your mum and dad doing... whatever it is they're doing... but I'm sure it's not sailing..."

Alfred was probably right, he was certainly correct to take a young puppy out of the environment. However, he did not get very far, in fact he got as far as the garden gate before a taxi pulled up.

A flouncing, Chanel-scented figure stepped out and shouted, "Well, au revoir, mon cher, it was nice to meet you!" and blew kisses at the driver who skidded away.

"France! Arty told you to bugger off last night," Alfred said, holding onto Daisy, who was growling menacingly.

"I know, but he needs me now, non?"

"Well, he certainly needs something."

"Ah l'Amérique," France stroked Alfred's cheek, "You are so very young..."

"I'm fed up of this. Everyone says I'm young and irresponsible..."

"So where is my petit l'Angleterre? I expect his heart has broken into two by zat 'orrible Belarus?" France rubbed his hands in glee.

"His heart? No, but I think his liver might be," Alfred paused and thought about the recent noises, "Or perhaps other parts of his body might be broken soon," he said as an afterthought.

"Liver? Je ne comprends pas?"

"He's leaping around dressed like Captain Hook and saying Yohoho and a bottle of rum or something..."

France's expression had gone from delighted anticipation to horror, "Non? You are sure? This was not meant to happen..."

Alfred and France stepped into the kitchen where they heard the unmistakable shouts of "Oh Arthur" and then "Captain Arthur Kirkland" and then ominously the ceiling light shook from the vibrations in the room above, a yell "Armada!"

France winced, "Mon dieu! Did he drink the vodka that I brought for Belarus?" he asked as peace seemed to descend finally over the house.

"Erm yeah," Alfred answered, "... with Ribena," he added.

"Sacre bleu!" France put a manicured hand to his head in despair, "Did Miss Belarus not drink ze vodka?" he asked.

"Nope, weird that. In fact I think she only drank water."

They were interrupted by the door being flung open and Belarus leaning against the doorframe. Her normally elegant dress was ripped in places, her hair was wild, her hair ribbons missing and a big smile on her face. She staggered and collapsed onto a nearby chair. "Oh my God!" she gasped, "He's an animal!"

Alfred and France exchanged glances, France looked extremely confused, "Arthur?" he said disbelievingly.

"Are you alright, Miss Belarus?" Alfred asked tentatively.

"Oh God yes, I'm going back up in a bit," she answered.

France shook his head, "Non non non! It was supposed to be..." and then he clamped his mouth shut quickly.

America and Belarus both looked at him suspiciously, however, before either could say anything the door was flung open yet again and Captain Arthur Kirkland leapt in, "You French vermin! You shall walk the plank! I will teach you to sink my Mary Rose!" 'Captain Kirkland' then launched himself at France, yelling, "Trafalgar!"

France squealed and ran, pushing America into England's wake before running into the garden.

"Excuse me, milady," England said to America (much to America's disgust) and dashed after France.

"What in the name of Lucas is going on?" America yelled to no-one in particular.

Belarus, realising finally that something was very wrong with 'her Arthur', probably the fact that he'd called her a 'comely wench' should have alerted her, along with being dressed as an extra in 'The Pirates of Penzance'. Sure, they'd enjoyed playing 'dress up' before but he'd always been endearingly gentlemanly and rather awkward. There'd been nothing awkward or gentlemanly about their more recent activities.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," she said determinedly, "...and if that garlic-smelling fiend has done something to my Arthur, he will pay," and on the word 'pay' a large bread knife was embedded in the kitchen table.

* * *

><p>Vienna, Austria<p>

It was just as Austria feared, the painting was gone from his desk drawer. He checked and re-checked and then, running the gauntlet of sarcastic wolf-whistles (one of the builders had took to calling him 'liebling') he ran (or as well as anyone in Wellington boots can run anywhere) back to the caravan.

"It's as I feared, it's gone, Lizzy."

"Was it ever really there?" Hungary asked, stirring a large pot of goulash – lunch for 'her boys'. She'd quite taken to the builders, finding it highly amusing that they called her ex-husband 'Woderwick' and she frequently fed them lunch. She found it refreshing to have appreciative male company.

"What?" Austria asked, momentarily confused.

"It wasn't where you put it?" she asked, dipping her spoon into the pot and carefully tasting the contents, "Hmmm, more paprika," she murmured.

"No, I looked. I mean, it was tucked away."

"Well then, you're going to have to tell them," she said, pointing her spoon at Austria.

Austria sighed and began pulling off his wellies, "I know..."

"I mean you should have taken more care of it. Who knows where it is and who's got it?"

"I know. The trouble it could cause - it could be catastrophic!"

"Who's involved?"

"What?"

"Well, who's actually on the thing?"

"Oh right. Well, England..."

"Naturally."

"Spain, both Italies, Prussia, Germany, well I suppose he looked very different back then."

"... not that much different. Honestly, I can't believe I didn't realise," Hungary hugged herself, "It's so romantic. Remember, Roddy? How romantic they looked together?"

"Hmm... then there's Sweden, Denmark, France of course, the bloody fool, me of course, and you."

"Oh I think I looked absolutely brilliant. That armour was really good."

"Erm, yes. I suppose you were the only one apart from France who wasn't covered in blood, apart from Romano and Feliciano. If the world's media get hold of it, then that's it."

"Well... I suppose... You should have burnt it."

"Yes, but it was a Da Vinci! A Da Vinci, Liz! How could I destroy something so beautiful by such a genius?"

"I'm not sure I would call it beautiful," Hungary said doubtfully. "But your face on it is absolutely priceless though," she concluded. "France is such a twat," she added.

* * *

><p>London, England<p>

Hungary was correct in her diagnosis – France was a twat.

"It was not meant for him," France yelled, pausing between each word as he narrowly avoided England's sword.

"What?" Belarus' tone sounded horribly dangerous and sounded very much like she was going to spear the Frenchman on some handy kitchen implement.

"It was meant for you. You were to supposed to lose your memories and go back to your brother and I would comfort Arthur," France gasped, now getting out of breath as he dodged England's blows. "Aaaargh!" this last scream was due to Daisy's teeth sinking into one of France's buttocks.

Francis was now fighting on three fronts – England, Daisy and Belarus – and failing, his only weapon to hand was his curling tongs – fortunately or unfortunately unplugged.

Alfred, the self-designated hero, stepped in and pulled Daisy off and pushed her into the living room and closed the door.

"Mom! Dad! Uncle Alfie! That funny-smelling man should be bitten again!" she barked (in doggy-eze).

Alfred then lifted Belarus up and deposited her on a kitchen chair and took the knife from her hand. He then turned to England who had now sprung onto the kitchen table and was shouting "Aha! Me hearties, I am the Ruler of the High Seas and I'm going off to Portsmouth to get Blackbeard and Cap'n Henry Morgan and we're going to take Tahiti from this French scallywag!" He got no further, indeed it was doubtful if he would have got as far as the garden gate, never mind Portsmouth as Alfred did the only thing he could think of doing – he pulled Arthur off the table, took his cutlass from him, said 'sorry' and, with some regret, punched him out cold.

France giggled with relief, "Honhonhon, I will give him ze kiss of life, non?"

Alfred (Indiana Jones) F. Jones, without saying sorry and certainly with no regret, punched the Frenchman – possibly saving Francis' life as Bela, not knowing who to hit first and seeing France with a bleeding nose, decided to attend to the unconscious pirate.

"Arthur, Arthur, come back to me!" she whispered worriedly.

Alfred, his usual affable, easy-going self gone out of the window grabbed hold of France by the lapels and said, "What did you give him?"

"It was an amnesiac draught. It was meant for her," here France nodded nervously at Belarus who was patting England's cheeks. "She would have left him sooner or later anyway and gone back to her brother so..." he finished lamely.

Belarus leapt to her feet and grabbed Francis where it hurt. "I love Arthur. You had better reverse this or I am going to kill you and then when I am done I am going to ring Vanya and he will kill you again," she said, her eyes gleaming darkly.

France squeaked, it wasn't the first time his testicles had been manhandled by one of the Soviet Republics (it probably would not be the last). "I don't know how..."

"Wrong answer, dude," America said wisely.

Belarus applied more pressure "You had better find out how," she growled in his ear, "Because I am pissed off," and then she promptly burst into tears.

"Hormones," France said in weird high-pitched voice as if he'd just sucked on a helium balloon, whilst gently cupping his wounded balls.

"I think I'm pregnant!" Belarus suddenly burst out.

France and America jumped back as if an alien was about to burst out of her stomach.

Then the telephone rang.

"Arthur?"

"Nope, it's me."

"Who's me?"

"Who are you?"

"Austria."

"Dude Australia! How are you doing my old cobber?" America answered gleefully in a very strange attempt at an Australian accent. Really, it was a relief - things had gotten a little heavy around here.

"Austria Austria Austria," Austria shouted, "Not Australia. Oh for heavens sake, we are not in any way shape or form alike."

"Okay, dude..." America sounded deflated.

"America, we have a problem, is Arthur there?"

America was about to answer and then thought, 'hang on why does everyone ask Arthur, why is it always him? I'm the hero, I can sort anything out. I won the World War... well okay I didn't win it on my own... okay okay, but I helped, if it wasn't for me... why do they always ask for Arthur?' and then said, "No, he's indisposed, ill, unconscious and he's lost his memory."

At these words, Belarus burst into renewed sobs.

"Ooooh dear, that is a problem," Austria said. At his end of the phone he turned to Hungary and whispered, "I think Arthur's finally lost the plot." Hungary nodded sagely - it had been over-due.

"No, it's not a problem, because you have me – the Hero!" America said. Honestly, didn't these guys understand?

"Well, okay..." Austria did not sound too sure, "It's a code red..."

"A codered? What's a codered?"

"A code red, you know..."

France who was stood at America's side, having stemmed the bleeding from his buttock and his nose – the latter had cotton wool shoved up it (don't ask about the former) nodded "Ah oui, a code rouge."

"What? A rude code?" America was very confused now.

"A code red. A code red!" Austria was shouting now in despair. Many years ago – too many to count, they (the Nations that is) had come up with a series of codes and codenames for each other should they be captured by human enemy forces. However, code red was the highest band of code which meant that either the secret of their existence was about to be or was in danger of being revealed to the human world.

"War? This is it! I'll scramble the jets! That commie bastard thinks he's caught me with my pants down!" Alfred shouted excitedly, 'the cold war was just hotting up, fuck yeah!'

Belarus jumped up, "What? Big brother has declared war?"

"Pants down! Oh mon dieu!" France leered.

"Nein nein nein!" Austria yelled down the telephone. Hungary shook her head, "I told you to ring Spain first and then ring England... hang up..." she told him.

"999? What for? The Police aren't going to do anything? This is war, dude," America said.

"No, it is not war!" Austria tried desperately to speak slowly and clearly and use words of one syllable. "It is a code red, you American idiot. The painting of the Nations has been stolen and we could be found out. Our secret is out..."

"Oh ... that..." America sighed, severely disappointed. He'd already got images of himself garbed in his five star general's uniform at the head of a column of Sherman tanks rolling into the Rhineland to save Europe from communist rule – again. He sighed and handed the phone to France, "Boring..." he said, like a bored child.

* * *

><p>An hour later found America, France, Belarus and England getting into a taxi for Heathrow. England had been brought round and dressed in more appropriate attire and although he was no longer singing sea shanties, he was instead talking 'weird rubbish' (America's words). France had been told in no uncertain terms by Belarus that if he so much as touched 'her Arthur' again he was dead. Belarus had packed for both her and Arthur and shoved various items of clothing into England's battered old suitcase. She had the bright idea that if he'd lost his memory then perhaps certain possessions of his could help bring them back. So she threw in old uniforms, various books, his wand and cloak and, under the bed she found what appeared to be a very old, ancient sword – its hilt covered in precious stones. So, with a shrug (she'd never seen it before) she crammed that in too.<p>

"So zis is settled zen, _mon ami_? You will take over as _Angleterre_?" France had said to Scotland. They'd decided it was safer if England's boss did not realise that Arthur's brain had gone walkabout and that Scotland, being England's older brother should take over as the personification of the United Kingdom until England was more 'compos mentis'.

"Yer. Ahm Scotland and I've 'ad me Irn Bru. Jus' leave it ter me, Francey-pants," Scotland answered in his unintelligible Scottish accent.

"_Oui. Au revoir._"

"I'll see yer!" And so, Scotland was left alone to his own devices, in his new house, as the newly-appointed personification of Great Britain. You may not know, but leaving a Scotsman to his own devices is not always the best of ideas.

Suddenly, the phone rang. "Yer?" Hamish answered, forgetting about the 'Hello, you've reached the Kirkland residence, may I help you?' that England – that bloody Sassanach – usually answered the phone with.

"Congratulations! You've won our grand prize – a Caribbean cruise!" The caller said cheerily.

"I dinnae wan' ta goo oan a bloody cruise, tha can tak tha cruise an' tha can pess orf!" Scotland shouted, before hanging up the phone. "Gran' prize, whut a bloody joke. An' why would ah wan' ta goo to th' Caribbean? It's too bloody 'ot, an' I'm Scottish I am. I wanna goo back ta Scotland. If it's noo in Scotland it's not worth bloody gooin ter."

Scotland sat back in Arthur's armchair with Daisy on his lap, glowering at the complete lack of Scotch whisky in Arthur's house.

**Author's Notes:**

**Stoppen – stop in German**

**Bitte – please in German**

**Nein – no in German**

**JCB – a type of digger or in the US, a backhoe**

**1000 years old – I think it states in canon that Austria's 'birth year' is 976. Although the first time the name Austria is used is 996. So as this story is set in the early 1980s he might actually be less than 1000 years old...**

**Je ne comprends pas – I do not understand in French**

**Sacre bleu – damn in French**

**Mary Rose – this relates to the sinking of the Royal Naval flagship the Mary Rose at the Battle of the Solent in 1545 when King Francis I of France (yes him) intended to invade England and engaged the Royal Navy under King Henry VIII of England.**

**Trafalgar – refers to the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805 between the British Royal Navy against the French and Spanish Navies. Britain won a decisive victory led by Admiral Lord Nelson, not one single British ship was lost.**

**Liebling – darling in German**

**Tahiti – an island in French Polynesia**

**Captain Henry Morgan and Blackbeard are both famous pirates**

**Portsmouth is a large port on the South coast of England**

**Lucas - refers to George Lucas - the producer of Star Wars**

**999 – the number to ring in Britain for the emergency services**

**Compos mentis – legal term for not of sound mind**

**Scotland – have given him the name 'Hamish', and I think in canon/fanon? he is the older brother.**

**Scottish translation:**

**Sassanach – Scottish term for English person**

**Irn Bru – carbonated soft drink manufactured and sold in Scotland**

**I dinnae wan' ta goo oan a bloody cruise, tha can tak tha cruise an' tha can pess orf! ... Gran' prize, whut a bloody joke. An' why would ah wan' ta goo to th' Caribbean? It's too bloody 'ot, an' I'm Scottish I am. I wanna goo back ta Scotland. If it's noo in Scotland it's not worth bloody gooin ter.**

**I do not wish to go on a cruise, you can take your cruise and piss off... Grand prize, what a bloody joke, and why would I want to go to the Caribbean? It is too bloody hot, and I am Scottish, I am. I want to go back to Scotland. If it is not in Scotland it is not worth bloody going to. (In English)**

**Please note I am not anti-Scottish – I do actually have Scottish blood and have lots of Scottish friends – and I am sure this is precisely how they would act. (I think Scotland is just England but with a Scottish accent.)**

**Sorry long chapter but I think pirate England deserves a long chapter**

**Next Chapter – a close shave, a rescue, an unusual alliance, Prussia and his most awesome van, DudeDen and Scooby Doo. **


	10. Closer to the Edge

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx and all my anonymous readers. If I've missed anyone out, PM me and tell me off.**

**Warnings: Prussia, swearing, garbled ABBA lyrics, Russian angst, Romano, Su-Fin domesticity and a little bit of Denmark, long chapter again (sorry)**

Chapter 9 – Closer to the Edge

Tuesday AM

Prussia's awesome van somewhere just outside Helsinki, Finland

"Dancing Queen, took a pee on a trampoline, oh yeah!" came singing from inside the van. Boris was yowling whether in pain at the terrible singing or from the way the van careered around corners it is unclear. Latvia and Prussia's singing was truly awful and after Latvia had insisted on putting her ABBA tapes in the van's cassette player (much to Prussia's disgust) they had sung their way through two albums all the way from Leningrad.

To establish how on earth this bizarre alliance had come about we have to go back in time (like Doctor Who only less cool) to a few hours earlier to Latvia trudging down the road from Russia's house in the general direction (she hoped) of the train station.

However, she'd only been walking for half an hour when she came across a familiar-looking figure bashing what appeared to be a car-jack against the rear wheel of a scruffy-looking van with a bad paint job. It had 'отлова бездомных животных' in badly painted letters on the side, but had 'Sanitärhygiene' just decipherable underneath.

"Sanitary animal control?" she asked wonderingly, "... or hygienic animals?"

Prussia stopped his bashing and looked up, his red eyes looking very fierce, "Fuck off, Russkie," he said.

"I'm not a Russkie," she answered, "Prussia? What are you doing here? Are you missing us?" she asked.

Prussia glared at her and then recognised her, "Oh you're that Latvian chick," he said finally, straightening up, "And no, I'm not missing living here in this miserable shit-hole."

"Don't call me chick," she said, "Are you trying to change that tyre?" she asked, indicating the car-jack.

"No... what made you think that? I was pretending this wheel was fat commie bastard's head," Prussia snarled sarcastically. He was truly freezing and bad-tempered now and just wanted to get out of this awful country with his hostage... and then a thought occurred to him...

"Oh okay, I was going to help you, but I'll be seeing you then, do svadanya!" she waved at him, using Russian because she knew it would annoy him and walked on.

"Wait, er chick, er Miss Latvia!"

She stopped, turned and raised an eyebrow.

An idea had formed in Prussia's little head, "Could you give me a hand? I mean I'm awesome but this wheel..."

Latvia smiled. She knew that even when she got to the train station she would have to wait a few hours until she got the next train to the west and in that time, Russia could catch up with her. Perhaps if she helped this idiot he might give her a lift somewhere. She had no idea why he was in Leningrad, there must be some prank involved and she just hoped she was well away from Russia's house before whatever the prank was, was discovered by her boss.

So between them, they changed the wheel – actually Latvia changed the wheel and Prussia looked on, smoking a cigarette.

"Can you give me a lift to Germany? I presume you're going back to Germany?" she asked him.

Prussia grinned broadly, this kidnapping lark was easier than he thought, "Course chick, you can come with your old Uncle Gil, I'll look after you."

Latvia was unsure about the 'Uncle Gil' bit – she thought Prussia said it in a very creepy way. However, she jumped in the van and settled down in the passenger seat.

"Kesese! This is going to be great!" Gilbert laughed.

"Whatever," Latvia answered, "Just drive."

However, a sound made her look around, "Boris! What are you doing here?"

The huge Siberian cat mewed at her, its big eyes widened and he started purring, sounding rather like a steam engine.

Latvia unbuckled the seat belt and got into the back and undid the cage, taking the large cat into her arms, "Aw poor Boris, what did the nasty man do to you?" she murmured to him in a 'goo-goo' voice, the large feline purring on her lap.

Prussia almost drove into a tree at this, "Do to him? Do to him? Have you seen the scratches on my arm? That cat's a bloody nightmare."

Latvia looked around the van, at the cage, the net and put two and two together, "You were kidnapping him!"

"Yes and I would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for you, pesky chick!"

"Don't call me that!"

"I need the money!"

"You can't kidnap Boris! Mr Russia will be upset!" she cuddled the cat, "You have to take him back!"

"I don't bloody think so. Anyway why are you running away? What's that big bastard done to you?"

"N... n... nothing. I was just... I wanted my freedom," she said finally.

Prussia looked in the rear view mirror at her, "Un-awesome way of escaping, chick. You should have done what I did, steal a motorbike and hightail it out of there. I had half the Red Army on my awesome tail all the way to West Germany. Kesese! They were so un-awesome! What a bunch of morons! And I wrote Prussia roolz all over that fat commie's house... it was totally cool."

"You do realise we just scrubbed out the P so it said Russia roolz, don't you?" she said.

Gilbert went quiet at this, "Shut up, chick," he said lamely.

"Just get Boris back and I'll give you money," she said. She really was worried. It was bad enough that she'd left, 'Russia would be upset enough that I've gone, but Boris as well. He loved that cat...' she thought, sadly.

"Too late, chick, on our way. Got to get Dude Den," Prussia said as he took the right turn out of the city.

"Dudeden? What's a dudeden? And aren't you going the wrong way? This is the road to Finland," she said, completely confused now.

"On a rescue mission, chick. Gotta get Dude Den. We'll leave monster cat with Barney and Betty Rubble."

"Who?" Latvia racked her brains for who on earth Prussia was talking about, "And will you stop calling me chick?"

Prussia thought about it, "Nah, chick," and put his foot on the accelerator and, in Prussia's head, high-tailed it out of that shit-hole of a country. He was pleased with himself, how awesome was he? He could get rid of the monster cat and instead have Latvia as a hostage, she would bring in more money. And, even easier and more awesome, she didn't even know... He was so clever.

* * *

><p>Same morning, Russia's house, Leningrad<p>

Russia woke to a cold, empty bed and, forgetting that he was still in Latvia's tiny single bed, rolled over and promptly fell out with a thud.

He rubbed his head, looking around. She must already have got up and gone for breakfast, no doubt embarrassed and not wanting the others to know they'd spent the night together. Russia stubbed his toe on the end of the bed (almost simultaneously with Austria in his tiny bedroom some 970 miles away) and growled. He stumbled down the rickety steps and dodged into the bathroom. He could hear movement downstairs and the unmistakeable aroma of blini and porridge.

"Where's Latty?" Ukraine asked Lithuania, "Has anyone called her?"

"A lie-in? She's getting worse these days for getting up," Lithuania sighed.

"I'll go call her down ... and Vanya, it's time he was up, the big lazy sod," Ukraine said.

Estonia shrugged, and kept his head down, he'd heard various creaking and tiptoeing last night along the hallway, but as Ukraine had spent the night with him, he didn't dare say anything.

"Latviaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Ukraine shouted, "Vanyaaaaaaaaaaaa! Breakfast!"

Russia pulled his pants on, quickly followed by the rest of his clothes and wondered why on earth they were shouting Aija, wasn't she downstairs? He also made a mental note that if and when the Leningrad Port Authority's foghorn broke down they could always call on his sister.

"Latvia not here?" Russia asked innocently ten minutes later, scoffing breakfast and reading the paper.

"No, she's not in her room either. And she didn't make her bed. Where is that girl?" Ukraine said.

"Maybe she is in the living room having a lie down?" Russia said.

"Why would she be having a lie down? It's only just eight o' clock," Ukraine said.

"I don't know, maybe she is having a funny turn?" Russia said. 'A funny turn' in Russia's head was what Russia termed 'women's problems'.

"What on earth are you on about, Vanya?"

"She's not in the living room, the study or the basement," Estonia said.

"Maybe she is in the garden?" Russia said and pushed his plate away, worried now, and went out into the garden, coatless and trudged around looking for her.

Estonia waited until Russia was out of earshot and turned to Lithuania and Ukraine, "She's done one," he said.

"Done one what?" Ukraine asked.

"Done a runner. She's taken a visa, some money and the boss' credit card."

Lithuania made a sharp intake of breath, "Noooo... oh, bloody hell. What for? He's been okay lately. I mean there were those fights yesterday but he hasn't threatened any of us in ages," Lithuania shook his head. This could be bad, very bad.

But it was far worse than he imagined.

"Oh dear, I think I might know why..." Ukraine said carefully.

Estonia was lost, "What? Why?" he said.

All three Nations peered out of the kitchen window and watched Russia trudging up and down the large garden. He looked quite lost. He stopped and went into the greenhouse where Latvia and Lithuania had been growing tomatoes and sunflowers the previous summer and where Latvia had took to spending a lot of her spare time, watering, feeding and talking to the plants – in fact she'd also been writing her novels in there. Russia bent down and picked up one of the now dead plants and gently held it in his large hand. Where was she? She wouldn't just leave without saying goodbye would she? The plant, its leaves already shrivelled and dry crumpled in Russia's hand and he threw it down and left, slamming the glass door behind him. He stomped back into the kitchen.

"Where is she?" he said, and then turning to Toris, he picked the Lithuanian up by the lapels and shook him, "Where is she?" he repeated his voice getting louder, his aura starting to shimmer.

"Sir, I don't know, honestly."

Ukraine put her hand on her brother's arm, "Vanya, let go of him. Toris doesn't know."

Russia released Toris and said in a hopeful voice, "Maybe she's gone to the shops?"

Estonia coughed, "Erm Sir, I think ..."

Toris shook his head frantically at his fellow Baltic, surely Latvia would be in worse trouble if Russia knew she'd took off with his credit card.

Ukraine interrupted, "What did you do, Vanya? She was upset and confused when I left Vienna but I thought you'd sorted all this out. You both seemed to be getting on okay when you got back here?" Katya asked. There was a hint of accusation in the tone of her voice.

She'd had an idea that something had come to a head in Vienna but had not failed to spot the sexual tension between the two back in Russia's house, but felt that leaving them to it, they would eventually come together again. She honestly believed they belonged together, her brother was lonely and needed someone and she liked Latvia. Katya had always got on well with the youngest Baltic and if it hadn't been for the stupid secret about her gender that they'd all insisted on keeping, she would have tried to get them together years ago. She'd been delighted when she'd found out that her brother and Latvia had actually had a one night stand back in the War. Surely, she thought, how difficult are they making it for themselves?

"What?" Lithuania frowned, "Is there something going on? I know you and Raivis in the War... but..." here Lithuania trailed off. He'd only heard snatches of both sides of the story about the mysterious Ivan and the mysterious Aija and had hoped to God at the time that they never realised who each other were... evidently they had and obviously something had happened back in Vienna. He couldn't believe that he'd never noticed but then again what with Estonia whisking Ukraine away (Lithuania had nightmares about what Russia would do if he found out about _that_, and that he'd given Eduard love advice), Russia's injury and then the fire, he'd been too busy to notice.

Ukraine nodded, Estonia frowned and Lithuania shook his head.

Russia jabbed Lithuania in the chest, towering over the smaller Nation, "Do you have a problem, Toris?" he asked dangerously.

Toris looked up at his boss, and trembled a little, but stood his ground, "No Sir, as long as Latvia is okay," he said.

Russia took a step back, thinking about this. It was obvious to him now, that he and Aija's sneaking around had been for nothing. Russia hadn't realised that they all knew about their all too brief affair.

"What did you do, Vanya?" Ukraine repeated.

"I didn't do anything. We just slept together once in Vienna," he said carefully and then, seeing Toris' horrified look, he added quickly, "But she was okay, I didn't hurt her, honestly. I would never hurt her."

"Well, she's obviously upset about something or she wouldn't just run off," Ukraine said, and Russia detected an accusing tone.

"She's taken money..." Estonia added (he kept quiet about the visa – he didn't want Russia to know that he kept an emergency cache of money and visas hidden in the safe).

"I would never hurt her!" Russia insisted again, his cheeks went red and he waved his arms around, "Why would I ever hurt her? I love her!"

* * *

><p>Finland, Helsinki<p>

Prussia's awesome van was just pulling up outside Sweden and Finland's house. Latvia and Pru (she'd taken to calling him this – much to his disgust) had made liberal use of Russia's credit card ('Pru' had been impressed that Latvia had taken it) – buying fuel, beer, cat food, several bags of wine gums and women's magazines - which 'Pru' had shown no interest in at all (for he was the awesome one and he was not, absolutely not, interested in the 'Dear Mary' agony aunt column).

By now, Latvia was exhausted and felt sick. She'd had no sleep and was honestly wondering what on earth possessed her to get into this awful van with Prussia. She'd started to regret running away and wondered was it too late to go back.

She voiced these fears to her companion. "Nah, dude. What do you want to go back for? He'll kick your arse all the way to Moscow and back. You can't go back. He's a complete bastard, chick." Prussia said, absolutely appalled. He couldn't lose his hostage now.

Latvia sighed, had she been too hasty? Perhaps Gilbert was right, he was far older than her. Russia would be very angry that she'd run away and she was afraid of what he would do if she went back. Besides if what she suspected was right, then making a new life away from him was the right thing to do. She might not just have herself to think about, she thought. And, as if on cue, she jumped out of the van as soon as Gilbert pulled on the handbrake and promptly threw up on the driveway.

"Bleurgh! Nice one though, at least you didn't do it in my awesome van," Prussia exclaimed.

She wiped her mouth, but felt a little better. She didn't comment on the 'awesome van' but secretly felt that her vomit could not have made the interior much worse than it already was.

It had been a bone of contention all the way to Helsinki where she'd kept asking what that strange smell was ('Awesome has its own smell, dude!'), why there was an annoying rattle coming from the speakers ('Abba's not awesome enough for my van, man!' – ignoring the fact that he'd sung along to almost all the songs – and that he knew most of the words) and the fact that none of the lights or indicators worked ('It doesn't need lights, dude') although the blue flashing light on the roof did work.

They approached Finland's house and knocked on the door, Latvia holding Boris in her arms, Gilbert holding his beer in his arms.

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

"I love her..." Russia repeated lamely, slumped in a chair and absent-mindedly broke a chunk off the kitchen table.

Ukraine sighed dreamily, "Awwww!" Her 'little Vanya' had finally found love.

Estonia shook his head, but was relieved. At least Latvia wasn't going to get her arse kicked when they got her back. And they would get her back, he thought, she had his (actually Russia's but he regarded it as his) credit card.

Lithuania's mouth dropped open. It was far more complicated than he'd thought.

The doorbell rang.

"That will be her!" Russia practically skipped to the door and flung it open, "Aija, I missed you..."

But it wasn't Aija. It was Poland.

"Oh it's you..."

"Yo, Braginski! How's it hanging? Latty-kins has gone?" Poland stepped in, attired in a smart dress suit, carrying a briefcase.

"What do you know about it, Polski?" Russia asked, reluctantly letting the Pole in, glaring at the man's stocking-clad legs. He would love to hit Poland and often actually _itched _to hit him, but it felt very wrong to hit someone wearing a dress. (Not that Russia was wearing the dress... oh, never mind.)

"Absolutely nothing, sweetie," Poland answered.

Russia winced, he hated, absolutely, hated Poland calling him 'sweetie' and the Pole knew it.

Outside on the street, in a crappy Avis hire care, Romano waited patiently. Actually, no, he was anything but patient. "Dammit. Come on you vodka bastard. Everybody has been in and out, even skirt bastard," he said to himself. He'd exhausted his supply of cigarettes, the pizzas he'd brought from Italy ('the old country' - he was homesick already) and the crappy songs on Radio Finland. Unbeknownst to him, he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

* * *

><p>Finland's house, Helsinki, Finland<p>

The door was flung open and Santa stepped out, adjusting his fake beard and shoving a pillow up his red velvet coat, "Bye then, dear!" Finland shouted back into the house.

"That's it! You just go to work and leave me here with the kids..." came a harassed voice from inside, "You never help around the house, I have to do everything, cooking, cleaning, getting Peter to school and seeing to him..." on the word 'him' there was a crash.

Finland smiled shakily at Latvia and Prussia, "Hi guys!" he said, "Can't stop, got to go to work."

"It's weeks before Christmas," Latvia said.

"Yes, but I'm the Store Santa at IKEA," Finland said. He had been utterly relieved when the IKEA management had realised, from watching the CCTV that the 'bad Santa' who had chatted up mothers, flashed his vitals and then proceeded to smash up the store wasn't him and he still had his job.

"Matrimonial problems?" Prussia laughed.

Finland ignored him but turned to Latvia, "Why are you here, Miss Latvia? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, Tino, but..." and then she burst into tears.

Prussia ignored her and stepped into the house, 'dude chick is weird,' he thought.

"Come and tell me all about it," Tino said and she followed him into his sleigh and proceeded to tell the Finn her worries.

"... and I just didn't know what to do. He was getting more and more possessive and insistent and Elizaveta said he wouldn't ever let me go. So I ran away. I just panicked, but now I don't know..." she finished, crying into Ivan's scarf.

"Erm, well, Ivan was always kind to me... I mean not in that way... Not like Berwald is..." Finland said quietly.

Latvia raised an eyebrow.

"But he only wanted me for Karelia!" Tino suddenly burst out.

Latvia gently patted him on the shoulder, "I know, Tino. I think he only wanted me for Riga," she said.

"So you've run away? Oh, Ivan will be upset..." Tino said.

"I know, but... can you keep a secret?" Latvia asked. She had to tell someone, just to gauge their reaction, perhaps then she could make sense of it herself.

"Of course I can. I'm Santa!" Tino said.

"I think I'm pregnant," she said quietly, hugging Ivan's scarf tightly.

"Oh! Is it Ivan's. I mean, does he know?"

"Yes, it is and no, he doesn't," she said, "I don't know what to do..." she added, desperately.

"Well, I think Ivan would make a good father."

"I can't tell him..." she said, "I'd never get any freedom."

"Well..." Tino said.

"He's a rubbish Dad. He sold the last flipping kid he had! He's not selling this one," she said decisively and placed a protective hand over her stomach, "And if he found out, he would never let me leave."

"Well..."

"That's it," she said with a sniff, "I'll go and see Hungary. She told me to go to her if I had a problem."

"Well don't do anything rash," Tino said, "Perhaps you could stay here?" Tino added and then immediately regretted his words, if Russia found they were harbouring Ivan's 'little Baltic' he'd tear the place to bits.

"Thanks Tino, but I don't want you and Mr Sweden to get into trouble with Vanya. I'll go to see Hungary and then I'll get some money and start a new life somewhere with me and my baby..." she said (in a tad dramatic way, Tino thought).

"By the way, can you, erm I mean Santa, bring me a pram for Christmas? That's if I am expecting?" Latvia added.

Santa/Tino nodded, smiling.

She got out of the sleigh and went into the house, sniffing emotionally.

"You know what'd make this show better? More drunken parties... and... and... naked women! And orgies, and beer, and..." came a voice like a foghorn from within the depths of Finland's living room. Denmark (the owner of said voice) was slumped in a chair, a large axe propped up next to him, surrounded by empty Carlsberg bottles.

"Denmark, it's Button Moon!" Sweden shouted at the Dane, to the shock (and mild fear) of Latvia and Prussia, while an oblivious Sealand ran past wearing a dishevelled school uniform and wielding a paintbrush.

"That's it, I can't take it anymore!" Sweden yelled at no one in particular.

It was obvious to Prussia (as oblivious as he was) and Latvia that the Swede was so far at the end of his tether there was no tether left. His spectacles were askew, his hair was wild, his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a man on the edge.

"You-" the Swede pointed at Prussia, who pointed at himself as if to say 'me?' and "you-" (Latvia) "Get him" here Berwald pointed at the clearly drunken Mathias "out of here. I don't care what you do with him; just get him out of this bloody house for one hour. Just let me sleep. For. One. Hour. Get him an ice-cream, take him to the beach, get him a job... do SOMETHING. Oh, and while you're at it, take Peter to school."

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

Russia threw on his coat and army boots, stuck Mr Pipe under his arm and prepared to scour the city for his 'little sunflower'. He would not rest until she was found. She may be hurt or lost somewhere. (In Russia's little head he was already riding to the rescue of his little 'broken sunflower' on a large white horse - although he didn't have a horse - and holding her in his arms, saving her from all the baddies out there in the bad old world.) He couldn't believe that she would simply just up and leave. They must be mistaken.

He opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch and ... there was a boom. Masonry, bricks and the large emblem of the Soviet Union fell with a crash, completely burying the Russian.

Romano, his finger still on the button, grinned, "I did it, I did it!" he put his foot on the accelerator and drove off quickly. The vodka bastard had been totally entombed in fallen bricks. Romano felt a small twinge of guilt at killing a fellow Nation, but then again the Russian was a nasty piece of work and had been his enemy in the War. He'd also intimidated Romano and his brother saying he 'wanted to be friends' and that he 'wanted to visit them because it was warm where they lived'. Well, he wasn't going to be visiting anyone any time soon, was he?

**Author's Notes:**

**отлова бездомных животных - Animal control in Russian**

**Sanitärhygiene - sanitary hygiene in German**

**Blini – thin pancakes eaten at breakfast**

**The old country – most Southern Italians call South Italy (especially Sicily) this.**

**Karelia – the Karelian isthmus to the west of St Petersburg/Leningrad was part of Finland until Finland was conquered by Russia in the Great Northern War of 1712. It stayed as a part of the autonomous Grand Duchy of Finland within the Russian Empire until 1917 and then until 1940 when it was ceded to the Soviet Union. The Russians required connections to their major Baltic port of St Petersburg.**

**Riga – capital of Latvia and one of the Soviet Union's key ice-free ports on the Baltic Sea.**

**"He sold the last kid he had" – Latvia is referring to Russia selling Alaska to the US in 1867 for $7.2 million. (I know Alaska is not in canon but there's enough about Alaska in fanon and that's good enough for me to put Alaska as Russia's child.)**

**Button Moon – a children's TV series in the 1980s – where an individual named Mr Spoon travels to Button Moon in every episode in his home-made spaceship. A classic. (But there were no women, drunken orgies or beer.)**

**PS I know Sweden is acting out of character, but I think if I'd had to 'look after' Denmark I'd be acting like that. Plus I thought I would turn the 'marriage' between Sweden and Finland upside down a little bit – have Finland being the 'husband' going out to work and Sweden being the 'wife' and the one stuck at home with the 'kids'.**

**Also lots of re-capping from Baltics Secrets – 'bad Santa' refers to Denmark's trashing of an IKEA store dressed in Finland's Santa costume. Also Ukraine and Estonia left the conference in Vienna early to whizz off to Seychelles so they are largely ignorant about some of the events (Estonia had asked Lithuania for love advice via telephone so only Lithuania knows about their little affair and Ukraine had advised Latvia to 'go with her heart' but hadn't realised that she'd actually done that). Lithuania knew about Russia and Latvia's one night stand in the war (he'd heard both sides of the story when running up and down stairs), however, hadn't realised that they'd got any further in Vienna. Phew. Well, now everything's all out in the open – apart from Ukr-Est that is... oh and Latvia's possible pregnancy, oh and the kidnapping...**

**Next Chapter: Shakespeare, Poland's car which is way more awesome than Prussia's awesome van, Pru-Den or Den-Pru, and what happens when Nations play truant. Please review, comment, correct, PM me. Do I continue? **


	11. Missing

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, Vengeful Cat and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: Shakespeare!England, France, PruDen**

Chapter 10 - Missing

Tuesday pm

Somewhere in the air above the English Channel

Flight BA007 Heathrow to Vienna

"Drinks, Sirs? Madam?" the air hostess asked the four Nations.

"Tempt not a desperate man," England answered.

"I think he means no," Belarus answered indicating England, "And none for me either or him" she added pointing at France, who was leering at the young air hostess.

"Honhonhon, bonjour, I will have a bottle of your finest Dom Perignon, s'il vous plait," Francis asked the stewardess.

"And I'll also have some of that Don Perry Neon stuff as well, see view plate" America added, with an attempt at French at the end of his sentence. After all, he had to prove to Belgium that he'd acquired more sophisticated tastes. France visibly winced at America's mangling of the French language.

"Non, he will not. It will be wasted on him, he will have some of your 'orrible American beer," France said, wisely.

The four Nations had managed to get the next flight to Vienna and, having negotiated security with a babbling England who'd spend the whole taxi ride reciting poetry and 'gibberish' at them, telling the nonplussed airport security that he was 'Will', and "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"He should have subtitles," America had declared.

They were now on their way to Austria's house and an emergency conference. America was very excited, it was his chance to save the world and be the hero, however, not without some trepidation as he usually had England's wise and steady advice to keep him in check and although he was often irritated by it, he'd come to rely on it more than he cared to admit.

Belarus was annoyed. She'd tried telling England that she thought she might be pregnant, however, it had fallen on deaf ears, whoever he claimed to be, it was not the Arthur Kirkland she knew and loved. She'd quite enjoyed the love sonnets he kept reciting, but now they irritated her as sometimes she wasn't sure exactly what he meant.

France kept his head down as much as he could, for once. It was his fault Arthur had regressed backwards through time, it was his fault that the Nations' secret was at stake (although America and Belarus didn't realise this) and, for the moment, he was quite pleased that England was not ... England. He was convinced that if the real Arthur Kirkland was aware of the painting's existence and the fact that the proverbial shit was about to hit the proverbial fan – all due to him – he would have had his arse kicked.

England was actually quite happy sat next to Belarus, after they'd managed to persuade him onto the plane, that is. "A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!" he'd shouted at first, until they'd persuaded him that there was no way they could go all the way to Vienna on horseback and get there on time. Then he'd shouted to everyone's consternation, "A man can die but once!" as the plane lifted from the ground. This had caused some panic amongst the rest of the plane's passengers, however, Belarus had shut him up with a kiss at which Arthur/William had declared, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

"Oh Arthur!" Belarus had swooned.

"Thou art more lovely and more temperate;" Arthur continued.

"Say what?" America said.

France sighed, "Ah, mon l'Angleterre, so romantique!"

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May," Arthur continued ignoring America throwing peanuts at him.

"Hahahaha! Arty's talking about wind!"

"And summer's lease hath all too short a date." Arthur finished, gazing romantically into Belarus' eyes.

"Are you saying I am too short?" Belarus suddenly said, her eyes blazing.

"He is saying that your time together is all too short," France said, "It is so romantic!"

"No, it's not!" Belarus said, angrily, glaring at France. Unfortunately he was out of reach, but not out of range of a knife.

"Men of few words are the best men," Arthur said, sadly.

"Damn right, dude. I would keep your mouth shut if I were you. I mean, dude, you're getting yourself into trouble with all this verily and forsooth stuff." America shouted – as usual his volume control set to 10.

* * *

><p>Helsinki, Finland<p>

Any passer-by wandering down Kvambacksvagen would have been much alarmed to see two blond-haired men crammed in a telephone booth, one with red-eyes and an evil grin on his face dialling a number, the taller one with a traffic cone on his head.

"Kesese, I'm gonna make me some dosh!"

"Ja!"

"Dude Den, can't you take that cone off your head while you're in here?" Prussia asked.

"Ja!" 'Dude Den' answered, but didn't.

Prussia sighed and then jumped startled, when the phone at the other end of the line was answered by a weary voice, "Privet? Braginski household."

Prussia grinned, it was Lithuania, he guessed and then, to disguise his voice, muffled his mouth with his hand and put on his best sinister, Polish accent, "Ve have your little sunflower."

"No, we don't and why have you got your hand over your gob?" Denmark asked, swigging his beer.

Prussia answered him by punching him in the stomach, causing the Dane to spill his beer.

"Aw man!" the Dane yelled.

"What?" Lithuania asked, "Is that you, Gilbert?"

"Nein, I mean, nie."

"This isn't funny, Gilbert. This is not a good time to prank call us!" Lithuania shouted.

Prussia frowned, he'd never heard Lithuania actually shout before, he was usually calm and easy-going and often just sighed whenever Gilbert prank-called them.

"Zis is not Gilbert, and zis is not a prankcall," Gilbert said insistently, weirdly swapping his accent to a French one.

"Ja, it is!"

"Shut up, Den and get the hell out of here!" Gilbert hissed at his companion.

"Are you missing somebody?" Gilbert asked.

"What? What do you know about it?" Lithuania asked, suspicion evident in his voice.

"Give me money and I will tell you where you can pick up the little sunflower," Gilbert said.

"You're a dead man, Gilbert. Russia is going to kick your arse and hand it back to you in a party bag if you've kidnapped Latvia," Lithuania answered, however, now his voice went very quiet. "You'd better bring her back right now," he all but hissed into the receiver.

"I am not zis Gilbert person. I want... fifty thousand dollars or you vill not see the leetle sunflower again!" Gilbert said, opening the door and shoving the tall Dane out of it.

Toris swore in a series of Lithuanian and Russian, Gilbert held the receiver away from his ear.

"The boss is going to kill you, Gilbert!"

"I vill ring later with ze details and then you vill see your leetle sunflower again ven I get my money," Gilbert added and slammed the receiver down. "Kesese! I'm going to be rich!" he yelled and then found he was stuck in the telephone booth.

Denmark stood like a goon outside the phone box, pressing his face against the glass in the door and leering in at the Prussian. It took Gilbert several bangs on said door before the big Dane moved freeing the smaller ex-Nation.

Just down the road, inside Prussia's awesome van sat Latvia and Sealand, eating hotdogs, both unaware of Prussia's nefarious doings. After Sweden had quite literally thrown them out of the house, they'd shoved Sealand in the back of the van, left Boris with Sweden (who didn't seem to care as long as Denmark - or _'him'_ as the tall Swede referred to him - was out of the house) and swerved off down the road.

Gilbert had parked on a dual carriageway right next to a 'No Parking' sign and promptly went off down the road saying he had 'business to attend to'. Latvia and Sealand assumed this meant he needed a pee. Denmark, after acquiring a traffic cone had, like a 'brainless moron' (Sealand's words) wandered after him. They were actually on route to Peter's school, but Peter was in no hurry to get there.

* * *

><p>Leningrad Airport, Russia – Avis car hire<p>

A jubilant Romano was handing in his car keys to the Avis representative.

"You won't be staying in this country any longer then, Mr Vargas?" the rep asked.

"No I will not, dammit! I'm outta here. My job is done," Romano said.

"You have done all the sightseeing of our wonderful history and landmarks?" the young woman asked.

Romano looked her up and down, actually, she was about the only attractive Russian woman he'd ever met (apart from Belarus who he'd always quietly fancied, only she scared him so much he almost wet his pants), and she was now quite obviously batting her eyelashes at him. He had a pocketful of money, he didn't have to meet his brother for a few more days...

Romano, who could actually be quite a charmer when he wanted to be, and was a sucker for a pretty face, smiled at her, turned on the Italian charm which rivalled his younger brother's and said, "Soooo, are you from around here? Can you show me around this..." Romano hesitated and glanced at the grey skies which were full of snow, the icy pavements and the grim, hard looking people, "... beautiful city?"

"Da!" the girl said, "I'm free in half an hour. Meet me at the coffee shop around the corner," she said.

* * *

><p>Russia's House, Leningrad<p>

Romano was a bit ahead of himself. If the Italian assassin had stuck around he would have seen Russia emerge from the masonry, brush the dust off him and step out as if the breezeblocks, cement and masonry were made of cardboard.

"Oooh!" he said, somewhat surprised, with a confused look on his face, shaking dust from his hair.

"What on earth are you doing, Vanya?" Ukraine exclaimed, clambering over the rubble.

"I think perhaps I slammed the door a bit too hard," Russia said. He rubbed his head, wonderingly. A large chunk of the porch ceiling had hit him on the head, however, unlike most people who would have had major concussion at the very least or brain damage or perhaps death, Russia just had a minor headache.

"I thought I heard an explosion?" Estonia said.

"Yes, him! Slamming about..." Ukraine answered.

"Not cool, sweetie," Poland added.

That's when the telephone rang and Lithuania had the strange conversation with the person who could receive the Most Incompetent Kidnapper of the Year Award.

* * *

><p>Somewhere above Europe<p>

If awards were handed out, certainly England could have gotten the Award for the Most Slappable Face. Belarus was getting really fed up now of Ye Olde English that England was spouting.

"Is this a dagger I see before me?" he'd said when the air stewardess had put his in-flight meal in front of him.

"Just shut up and eat your ... whatever it is..." Belarus snapped, looking at the shapeless mess in front of her which the stewardess had told her was 'chicken'.

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," England said.

"Protest? Protest? Argh!" Belarus screamed and slammed her food tray up and down repeatedly, until, thankfully, America put a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Miss Belarus?" he said leaning over the aisle, ignoring the fact that he was blocking the air stewardesses who were trying to get past with their trolleys. "Swap places and I'll sort Arty out," he said.

Belarus got up, quite reluctantly and changed seats, she glared at France as she did so, "Touch me, Francy-pants and I will tie you to the hostess trolley and shove you out of the emergency exit door."

Francis wisely sat on his hands.

"Beware the ides of March!" Arthur told America, all the whilst eyeing Belarus who was waving the small plastic knife around which had come with her in-flight meal. It probably was not as deadly as her usual choice of weaponry, however, being in the hands of Belarus, who knew? France was certainly very nervous and could quite easily have won the Award for Person most Likely to Wet Pants.

"Eyes of March? What in the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi are you talking about, dude?" Alfred shook his head. Clearly, he thought, Arthur had lost the plot big time.

"You know," he said, turning to Belarus who was testing the edge of her plastic knife, "He only switched to this Brad person after I hit him..."

"Yes, you did..." Belarus narrowed her eyes at him and ran her finger along the edge of the plastic knife testing its sharpness – which wasn't much – it was about as sharp as Alfred's brain. She'd quite liked Captain Kirkland, but she wanted _her _Arthur back.

"So you are saying that a blow to ze head 'as made 'im go back in time?" Francis said eagerly?

"Nope, you did that with your stupid amnesia stuff. But a blow to the head might bring the real Arthur back to us," America said.

Belarus turned to France, "You're not getting out of this, France. If he's not himself soon, I am going to do something to your vital regions with this plastic knife," she hissed.

"Ah mon dieu!" Francis took his hands out from under his derriere and placed them protectively over 'little Francis' or 'Eiffel Tower'.

Belarus turned back to America, "Hit him and I kill you," she said simply.

America shook his head, "But it might be the only way to get him back. Think about it, Natalya," he said, daringly using her human name, "A blow to the head got us this," here he nodded at England who was gazing out of the window and humming Greensleeves dreamily, "Another blow and we could get Arty back."

Belarus considered this and also considered her options of the logistics of impaling America and France with British Airways plastic cutlery and escaping with a man who was clearly stuck in the sixteenth century without the cabin crew noticing.

"Or you could end up with Mr PoncyPants here as the father of your unborn child. Your choice, Bela," America said.

Belarus sighed, she would be the laughing stock of the Nations...

"I mean I don't know about you, but I'm sure the kid will grow up okay with a dad who says verily and ponces around the house waving a lacy handkerchief around?"

"Hey!" France exclaimed in protest.

"And I suppose it is possible to be a poet and not be gay?" America added, using his own logic.

Belarus frowned at this.

America's next words decided it, "Well I suppose love poems and all that could be used as a battle technique, I'm not sure myself... I suppose if you get invaded by someone equally poncy like Austria, you'll be okay. Austria would just play his piano at you and England could retaliate by spouting rubbish poems that don't even rhyme..."

"Just hit him... but gently," she said quietly and then shut her eyes tightly.

America nodded, "You know it makes sense," he said and punched Arthur in the head, "Sorry Arty dude," he said gravely, as Arthur slumped sideways in his seat.

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

Russia was sat at the kitchen table, rubbing his blond head, drinking vodka to fortify himself. Vodka can cure all ills, he thought, it had never failed him yet.

"Who was that on the telephone?" he asked Lithuania.

"Erm..." Lithuania hesitated. Should he tell Russia that Latvia had been kidnapped by Prussia – the mere mention of the ex-Nation's name was sometimes enough to send Russia into spasms of rage and kokolling – much in the same way as Austria (but without kolkolling and instead much passive-aggressive dramatic sighing in the case of the latter).

"It was a wrong number," he said eventually.

"It was not little Latvia?" Russia asked desperately.

"No, sir, but I'm sure she'll ring soon," Lithuania said, feeling actually quite sorry for his boss.

Russia sighed heavily and went back to his vodka, thinking furiously, 'Where was she? Where would I go if I was little Aija? Back to Riga?'

"I'm going to go to Riga," he said suddenly.

Ukraine shook her head, "You're going nowhere until I know you haven't got concussion," she said, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Russia shook his head, "I have to go and find little Aija. She could be hurt, scared... suppose she's been kidnapped by bad people?" Russia stood up, buttoned up his coat and picked up Mr Pipe. No mere blow to the head was going to stop him from rescuing his love.

Estonia came in, he'd just spent five minutes on the telephone using his brain. "I know where she is," he said.

Russia grabbed him by the lapels, "Where? How?"

"She's on the way to Helsinki, I think. She erm...," here, Estonia hesitated, should he tell Russia about the credit card? Then he took the plunge, what harm could it do? And besides how else would he get Russia's credit card back? Eduard needed it for his business deals, "... she took your credit card, Sir," he said and stepped back, gauging the reaction.

Russia couldn't have cared less if she'd taken the Romanov crown jewels, "Helsinki! Right, let's go," he said.

"Wait a minute, you can't just take off like that!" Ukraine exclaimed.

"Da, I can."

"How do you know she's in Helsinki anyway?" she asked Estonia.

"I rang the credit company and asked them where it was last used. They said that it was last used in a petrol station just outside Helsinki," Estonia told her.

"Right, let's go, come on Esty," Russia said, "You are coming with me, then you can help me to trace her and I will bring her back and she can be safe and sound here with me forever and ever," Russia added in his little, slightly creepy, sing-song voice.

'Esty' shrugged at Ukraine, who told him, "Just keep an eye on him and just make sure he doesn't hurt too many people."

This request was probably asking far too much of Estonia, or of anyone really.

Lithuania took hold of Estonia and, whilst Russia (to Ukraine's alarm) was shoving various weapons and implements into his many pockets – knitting needles, machete, hacksaw, hammer, pickaxe and, weirdly, a spoon, he told Eduard in a hushed tone, one eye on his boss, "Prussia just rang. He's got Raivis and said he wants fifty thousand dollars or we won't see her again."

Estonia shook his head, "What a moron! Is he on a sponsored death wish?" Estonia said and broke off as Russia experimentally swished the machete around.

"I wouldn't say anything to the boss until we know for sure what's going on," Lithuania said wisely.

"Hmm, I think Latvia can look after herself," Estonia said.

"It will all end in tears," Poland said wisely. The Pole suddenly appeared in the doorway, having 'had a look around for clues'. He had a furtive look about him and was hurriedly cramming a sheaf of papers into his briefcase.

As it happened, Poland was to be proven correct, it was going to end in tears.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

**Tempt not a desperate man – Romeo & Juliet**

**What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet – Romeo and Juliet**

**A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse – Richard III**

**A man can die but once! – King Henry IV, Part II**

**Men of few words are the best men – King Henry V**

**Shall I compare thee to a summer's day... – Sonnet 18**

**Is this a dagger I see before me – Hamlet**

**The lady doth protest too much, methinks - Hamlet**

**Kvambacksvagen – a road in Helsinki (I picked it at random) but am not sure if it actually has any telephone booths on it**

**"This Brad person" – assuming America means The Bard (i.e. Shakespeare) but who knows?**

**Next Chapter: More dude Den, Prussia, a trip to the park, Poland's awesome car (definitely), more history.**


	12. Joyride

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, Vengeful Cat and all my anonymous readers.**

**Also thank you to Silver FoxWolf for pointing out that yes, indeed "Is this a dagger I see before me" is from MacBeth and not Hamlet as I erroneously stated (the only**** Shakespeare play I studied was A Winters Tale... so I would be akin to Belarus, America and France and would need subtitles for Shakespeare!England).**

**Warnings: Sexual innuendo (as usual), swearing, Prussia, Denmark, silliness**

Chapter 11: Joyride

Tuesday noon pm ish - A park somewhere in Helsinki, Finland

Having been told to get Den out of the house, 'get a him a job, take him to the park, anything' (to quote Sweden) and finding that a job was out of the question (there was no demand for tall, annoying, axe-wielding Danes – not that they'd checked the situations vacant in the local newspapers), and Prussia having made his important telephone call (Latvia still being blissfully unaware that she was a hostage), they went to the park.

Prussia and Latvia had managed to persuade Den to leave his axe behind. Actually in reality, they'd given him no choice in the matter. The weapon had been thrown out of the van window before they were even out of Tino's driveway.

So now they were at the park, thankfully minus Denmark's axe as Latvia pointed out to him for the sixth time, '_No, we can't go back for it, you can't take an axe on the swings anyway, it would be dangerous.'_

Prussia and Denmark took it in turns to push each other as hard as they could on the roundabout. Sealand and Latvia sat on a nearby bench eating ice-creams.

Finnish mothers had hustled their children away when the Prussian and the Dane had invaded the play area "Awesome, dude – yay!" "I know – I bags the swings." The play area had a notice which proclaimed "Under 12s only".

Sealand pointed this out to Latvia who said, "Yes, but that refers to IQ so we're covered."

One of the mothers said to Latvia as she covered her child's ears to protect them from the audible onslaught of swearing as Denmark fell off the swings (yes, swings as in plural – Latvia was unsure why he insisted on a leg on each of the two swings and attempting to balance his body between them), "I think it's such a good job you do. I don't know how you do it..."

Latvia frowned, "Excuse me?" she said.

"They look like such hard work. But I suppose it's rewarding in itself isn't it?" The young mother patted her child's head, "I'm so lucky that mine are okay..."

Sealand laughed hysterically as the mother walked off, still holding her hands over her child's ears as Prussia yelled "Well bugger me with a green banana, watch this, Dude Den! I bet you can't do this!" whilst throwing himself across the roundabout as it spun with a force approaching 5 _g_.

"Hahaha, that mum thinks they're _special_," Sealand laughed.

Latvia shook her head, she was starting to feel like their carer. "Stop doing that now!" she shouted and shut her eyes tightly as Denmark grappled with Prussia on the roundabout – the said contraption whizzing around so fast they were just a blur.

She supposed this would be good training for motherhood. She just hoped that the child she was carrying had more sense than these two brainless goons.

"So dude chick doesn't know you kidnapped her?" Den asked Pru as he shoved the see-saw down, plonked himself on it, opened a beer and smirked while 'Pru' tried to pull the other side down to sit on it.

"Bloody hell, Den, lift your fat beer arse off so I can get on!" Prussia shouted.

"Play nice!" Latvia called.

"You're not my mom!" Prussia yelled and then stood back as Den laughed hysterically, gulping down beer, holding his end of the see-saw down, the other end way out of Prussia's reach. "Chick! Tell him!" Prussia called to Latvia.

Denmark eased his arse off the see-saw allowing the smaller Nation on and they bounced up and down happily.

"Nah man. Chick doesn't know she's a hostage, kesese!"

"Awesome!" Denmark answered, much impressed.

"I know. Fat Russkie will pay up loads to get his little Baltic back." (Prussia said the words 'little Baltic' in a high-pitched Russian accent.)

"Commie dude can get angry, dude. You don't want an un-awesome pipe around your neck. Not cool. Spoils the image, man," Den said as he touched ground and bounced as hard as he could almost sending Prussia into orbit.

"I can handle him but don't tell dude chick."

"Why did she run off, dude?"

"Dunno. Cos fat commie bastard is un-awesome?"

"Damn right. You think he hurt her?" Denmark asked, frowning as Prussia hung mid-air – Gilbert's lighter weight meaning he had to wait for Denmark to bounce on the ground before he could come to earth again.

"Dunno. But I think she likes him," Prussia said with an uncharacteristic moment of clarity and insight (the only one this century).

"I think he likes her. Remember at Austria's place? Fat Russkie went mental. He crushed Francis' vitals just for touching her... not cool. And he punched me and my hair went flat," Denmark automatically touched his hair, checking that it was still defying the laws of gravity. Content that it was, he pushed himself off the ground, bounced high in the air yelling "Copenhagen!"

"Kesese! That was awesome!" Prussia yelled, whether this was a commentary on the force at which the see-saw was being flung up and down or at the memory of his friend's southern regions being crushed in Russia's vice-like grip is unclear.

Latvia watched the two morons (as she'd come to view them) bouncing up and down on the see-saw but could not hear them (amazingly – the sound of toddlers in the nearby sand-pit managing to drown out even the foghorn-like quality of Denmark's reverberating voice).

At first she'd felt some trepidation about Denmark joining them. "Dude Den's coming with us, chick. He needs rescuing!" Prussia had said, before Sweden had even thrown the Dane out of the door – together with his beer. It was bad enough having to deal with Prussia and now she had two male Nations to possibly fend off when they came to booking into a motel... However, over the morning she'd spent with them she'd come to realise that actually they were both fairly harmless. Prussia was the one with brains – if anyone could dignify them as such – and there was a certain amount of deviousness there, whilst Denmark was a big harmless loon, easily tamed with a bottle of beer. They were both startlingly immature. In fact, Sealand was far more mature than either of them.

"What are you going to do, Raivis?" Peter asked her, swinging his legs on the bench, slurping his ice-cream. He was playing for time, they'd evidently forgotten they were supposed to take him to school and he wasn't about to remind them.

"I'm going to Miss Hungary's. She said to go to her if I was in trouble."

"What trouble?" Sealand's eyes widened. His brain ran ahead of himself as he thought of some of the trouble he'd got himself into at Finland and Sweden's house – attempting to give Hanatamago a perm; ringing Jerk England and telling him that the Vikings were on their way for a holiday; and spiking Denmark's beer with Lucozade. The third prank had caused havoc and had almost precipitated the second prank - Denmark was restrained thankfully before he managed to reach the harbour and commandeer a longboat.

"What's happened? Is it something to do with you being a girl?" the micro-nation asked.

"Well..." Latvia hesitated. How do you explain to a teenage boy about the complexities of love? Particularly love and someone like Russia? Of course he wasn't a teenager, he was actually over 40 years old but physically he was about 12.

"If Mr Russia has done something to you, I'll sort him out. One day I'm going to be bigger than him," Sealand said, puffing out his little chest.

Latvia smiled. She had an image in her head of Sealand and Russia squaring up to one another, Russia having to bend double to look the little micro-nation in the eye.

"...and I've got my Rocket Punch!" Sealand added, "I could knock him out... well my Dad could and my Mum... and perhaps Uncle Den," Sealand said looking over at 'Uncle Den' who was waving a half-empty bottle of beer around and shouting about 'having a go on the climbing frame'.

Latvia smiled and felt tears prick her eyes. What on earth was up with her? One minute she was okay and the next she was felt like sobbing. She gave Peter a hug.

"Hey!" Peter protested, "I've got my street cred to think about!" he said, which was bizarre coming from someone dressed in a schoolboy uniform complete with shorts and cute little beret.

"Right! It's time we were off," Latvia said, decisively. "You two!" she called to 'Pru' and 'Den', "Come on!"

"Aw! We haven't been on the slide!" Denmark protested.

Latvia shook her head. There was a queue of children now waiting for the swings (Prussia was swinging as high as he could, whilst Denmark was pushing him).

"She's no fun, dude. Does she have to come with us?" Denmark asked Prussia.

"She's the hostage, fool!" Prussia answered, and reluctantly got off the swings and slouched back to his van.

"Get in there and take me to the shopping centre," Latvia ordered Prussia, as she got in the van, Denmark sat between them.

"Oh no, not shopping..." Denmark wailed like a small child.

Latvia ignored him, "I need some stuff," she said, "Women's stuff," she added with an emphasis on 'women'.

"No. This is my van and I'm in charge. So shut it, chick," Prussia said. It was time, he thought, that he put his foot down and show this chick who was the man around here.

Latvia sighed, she'd hoped she didn't have to do this. She reached into her bag and pulled out Ivan's service revolver, she took off the safety catch and pointed it at Gilbert's head.

"Take me to the shops now," she said, slowly and simply.

"Okay, okay. Jeez. Women!" Prussia hurriedly started the van and pulled away from where he'd haphazardly parked it.

"Ha! Looks like we're the hostages!" Den 'whispered' to Prussia.

"What did you say?" Latvia asked.

"Nothing," the two men said in unison.

"Brilliant! Way to go, Raivis!" Sealand shouted from the back of the van.

"Shut. Your. Mouth." Prussia said turning his awesome van down the road towards the city centre.

"When we've been there we're catching the ferry to Tallin," Latvia said.

"You're not in charge!" Prussia said and then seeing the gleam in Latvia's eyes and gun still pointed at him, added, "Well, I suppose... I mean I'm going that way anyway," he said hurriedly. What was it with her? She looked like a sweet innocent little thing. This is what living with Russia for forty years does to someone, he thought. "But you're paying for the petrol," he told her.

"... and the beer," Denmark added.

"Okay," she sighed, "Just drive..."

Sealand kept quiet. They'd forgotten about the school run and he was missing double history. This was ace.

* * *

><p>Fat commie dude's house, Leningrad, Russia<p>

Things were not 'ace' at Russia's house. Russia had flung the rubble off his car, jumped in and indicated to Estonia that he was to follow. They skidded off down the road. Russia's black Volga did not look good or indeed 'ace', the rear bumper was hanging off, a headlight was smashed and there was a huge crack in the windscreen.

Ukraine had embraced both her brother and 'Esty' (she patted the latter Nation's arse) and told Russia she would 'take care of things while he was gone', that he should be 'careful and not catch a cold' and then she'd wrapped a pink hand-knitted scarf around his neck, a similar one around Estonia's neck, kissed them both on the cheek (Estonia blushing madly) and had stood on the doorstep with Lithuania and Poland and waved them off.

The Volga bumped and clattered through the city.

Romano sat in a cafe, turning on the charm with 'Sophia', a glass of vino in his hand, a plate of pasta in front of him.

"More vino, signorina?" he said, "And then perhaps we could..."

But Romano did not get a chance to tell her what he planned. He looked out of the window as he poured the 'vino' and at that moment, a black Volga pulled up outside at the traffic lights which had just turned red. Sat at the wheel was a very alive and healthy Russian. The car did not look so healthy – it had the appearance of having been in a fight with a bulldozer and lost.

"Dammit! Vodka bastard! How can... aaaargh!" the Italian then did something he had never ever done in his long life – he left his pasta, his wine and worst of all, a pretty girl and ran outside and watched in disbelief as Russia sped off as the lights turned green. To put the icing on the proverbial cake, slush from the wheel-spin splattered over Romano's expensive Italian-made leather shoes. Romano looked down at the ruined designer leather, "This means war!" he said. He ran back into the cafe, gave the girl his telephone number, promised he would see her again soon and took off to get his hire car back. So his explosion didn't work, did it? Well, he had lots of tricks up his sleeve. "I'll fix him," the Italian said.

* * *

><p>Switzerland's house, Bern<p>

Out in the gardens of Switzerland's modest house, there was the sound of gunfire. Vash was doing his daily target practice. His leg was still in plaster and he was still on crutches but this had not stopped him from his daily regime. With unerring accuracy he hit the bullseye six times in a row, then paused to reload his rifle.

"Bruder! Vash! I've made tea!" Lily called. She came out and watched him, "Oh, you're so disciplined big brother," she said, "I don't know anyone else who would still do target practice with a leg in plaster."

(Or in other words who else would be so fanatical about shooting practice when they should have been resting their injured leg?)

"Hmmm," Switzerland paused, laid down his rifle, "You never know when France might come streaking onto the lawn or if somebody decides to invade or some undesirable decides to come along and carry you off, Lily."

Lily smiled a little at the idea of an 'undesirable' carrying her off – it sounded quite exciting.

"If they think just because I'm injured I can't protect you then they're sadly mistaken," he said and cocked his rifle, aimed and fired.

After kicking Iceland's arse all the way around Seychelles as Ukraine had reported, the Swissman had taken Lily home telling her she wasn't old enough to be married and that 'that Viking' wasn't good enough for her.

She'd protested all the way home and had sulked. She loved Vash, she really did, she owed him her life but by now she was pretty fed up of his over-protectiveness. She also loved Iceland – but obviously in a very different way.

So she'd come to an arrangement. It wasn't ideal but it would do until she could wear Vash down. Besides she had a cunning plan...

"Yes, big bruder, I know..." she said, "... and I won't talk to strangers. And I am not to go visiting Mr Austria's house ever again."

That had been added to the list of places she wasn't allowed to go, along with the abodes of France (for obvious reasons), both Italies (because of France's 'influence'), Germany (one word – Prussia), any of the Nordics, Spain (as a member of the Bad Touch Trio, Switzerland saw Spain as particularly corruptive) and certainly not Russia. Vash had almost had a heart attack when she'd said she wanted to visit Latvia for a 'sleepover'. And this had sparked the beginning of an idea.

"Well, I have a headache," she said, "I'm going upstairs for a lie-down."

Vash frowned. His little sister was spending a lot of her time in her bedroom lately having a lie-down.

Indeed, she was. Every afternoon to be precise. And she wasn't lying down alone either.

She opened the door to her bedroom and sang a little song as she did so – ironically 'Edelweiss' – as a sort of password between her and her little lover. There was movement under her little single bed, the Tweetie Pie duvet cover moved and a silver-haired, blue-eyed young man crawled out.

"Phew!" he said, "It gets a bit cramped under there!" he added and then picked her up and spun her around.

"The code works! I can't believe he hasn't guessed!" Lily laughed in her husband's arms and then pulled Iceland into a kiss.

"I'll have to think of something soon. I can't keep you under my bed forever... although..." she started laughing.

"What shall we do? Do you want me to have a word with him again?" Icy asked, although he didn't relish having a rifle in his face again. "A duel or something? I mean we are married... I'm sure Norway, Finland and Sweden would have a word. They're behind us all the way."

Lily shook her head, "I have a better idea..."

"I'll tell you what ... I'll bring Den in, your brother won't know what hit him," Iceland said, imagining the large Dane crashing through Vash's orderly and neat home with his axe/snow-blower/ride-on lawnmower or whatever vehicle he happened to have stolen that particular day.

Lily shook her head, "No Icy," (she always called him Icy), "That won't be necessary, I have an idea."

They sat on the bed and Lily explained her plan.

"I don't know about that Lily, it could be dangerous."

Lily kissed him softly, "I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing," she said.

Icy shook his head and was about to protest. He didn't like the sound of it at all. It could go very badly wrong and if it did go wrong, he doubted if even his fellow Nordics would be any use.

"Don't worry, Icy, I know Latvia, she's a good friend and I promise I'll be careful."

"I'm not happy," Iceland said.

So Lily leaned across the bed, switched on her tape recorder to play the heavy rock music to drown out any sounds and laid back on the bed. She smiled at Iceland seductively, "Come on, Icy... time to cure my headache," she whispered and went about making her husband happy.

Vash sat downstairs with his tea (bargain teabags) and cake (special offer) and was tempted to shout at Lily to turn her music down, but then thought better of it. After kicking Iceland's arse and bringing her home and then practically 'grounding' her, she had been relatively quiet and had actually not protested as much as he thought she would. Perhaps it had just been a phase she'd gone through and everything was now just going back to normal and that was the end of it. He could not have been more wrong.

* * *

><p>Vienna Airport<p>

"Gutan tag, I am American!" America told the Austrian security, handing them his passport. His new outlook of embracing foreign languages was coming along brilliantly, he thought.

"Congratulations, you are now an idiot in two languages," Arthur said. "I say old chap, where are we?"

At first the three other Nations thought that Arthur was back to being Arthur. He answered to Arthur, he knew them, he insulted France at every opportunity, was sarcastic with Alfred and frequently told him not to slouch and was charmingly polite with Belarus. And then...

"So we're behind enemy lines, eh?"

"Eh?"

"It's not 'eh?' It's pardon. I said have we caught Jerry with his pants down eh?" Arthur said.

"Eh?" America said again.

"What?" said Belarus.

"Honhonhon! Allemagne sans pantalons!" France was delighted.

"What?" America said yet again.

"I zink he means Germany – Jerry is his term for Germany..." France translated carefully.

"Ludwig?" America said.

"I'm SAS. Trust me, no-one is better at spying and espionage than I am," Arthur told them.

"Eh?"

"Oh Arthur, you're so manly!" Belarus swooned.

"Erm, Miss Belarus?" Arthur addressed her, with a confused expression, "Why are you here? Oh I see, yes you've been evacuated? Quite right, women should not fight..."

Belarus growled. She'd fought just as much, if not more than these idiots surrounding her, "I was a sniper at the battle of Stalingrad and I helped defend my country against the German oppressor!" she said, getting very riled.

"Jolly good show! I don't know what we'd do without you Russkies and Uncle Joe..." England said.

Belarus growled at this, "I'm Belorussian, not Russian," she said indignantly, "And don't mention Joseph Stalin to me..."

"Moving on..." France said hurriedly, pushing them along towards the exit.

"So, are we here to capture that damn Ludwig or is it that daft Italian?"

"Neither," America said, he still wasn't exactly sure what was going on. "What on earth is going on?" he asked France.

"He zinks it is the War," France explained.

"You don't say!" Belarus said in her most sarcastic tone.

"Well, that's a rotten show, I say," Arthur said and started humming a Vera Lynn song.

"So what are we going to say when we get to Austria's place?" Belarus asked, eyeing England who was gazing around him with his hands in his pockets.

"If we act normal, those damned Gestapo won't spot us," Arthur whispered conspiratorially to them, indicating a brow-beaten looking man with a mop.

"Trust me, I'm American," America said, unhelpfully.

"That's what worries me," Belarus said.

"Et moi," France added.

"Don't draw attention to yourself, Francy-pants. Come on chaps, let's get out of here," Arthur said and sidled very conspicuously towards the exit, checking each corner as he went. However, Alfred was pushing a very wobbly and squeaky trolley with their suitcases perched precariously on it that insisted on going in the opposite direction from which he pushed it and France was winking lasciviously at a girl selling perfume in the shop opposite.

"Well done, chappies," Arthur said, "I think we got away from them. We've entered Germany secretly."

"Honhonhon it is not the first time I have entered Germany secretly and taken him by surprise!" France said, utterly delighted at the memory...

"Dude, that is so not right," America said.

"But we're in Austria and it's not exactly a secret!" Belarus said as various people turned to stare at them.

"... And I have taken him by surprise many times as well, honhonhon," France added.

Belarus was correct (but the author cannot comment if France was), they had not entered anywhere secretly – having the squeakiest trolley on the planet, France blowing kisses at everyone and England creeping around every corner – had caused quite a few heads to turn. Also they were in Austria and not in Germany.

"J'adore Austrian security!" France declared dreamily.

Belarus squealed with delight. But not at the Austrian security. The object of her particular delight was a play area full of toddlers playing happily.

"Soooo cute," she said, her eyes shining.

England shook his head, "Come on chaps and chapesses. We don't have time for all that palaver. There's a war to be won."

Belarus' lip trembled and she looked set to hit him but France put a hand on her arm and said gently, "Come on Miss Natalia. He doesn't have a clue. When he is Arthur again you can tell 'im and he will be thrilled. He will make a good père, oui?"

Belarus nodded, quite touched actually – and not touched in a 'pervy' way either, France did not actually attempt to undo her bra (he was an expert at undoing brassieres – sometimes just a look could do it) and did not say anything suggestive or insulting. What on earth was going on?

The four Nations jumped into a taxi and, to keep England quiet they told him that they were on a secret diplomatic mission. America told the taxi driver Austria's address, it was only afterwards that France said, "But mon cher, Austria's house has burnt down, non? Where are we going to stay?"

"A hotel?" America said, "Next to a MacDonalds of course," he added.

"I know ze perfect 'otel..."

"And not one of your bloody sleazy places where there are girls coming and going all hours of the day and night," Arthur told him.

"Well, Miss Hungary is staying with Mr Austria so there must be somewhere to stay," Belarus said.

"Yeah, we'll stay with them. I bet there's plenty of room. It's a huge place. I bet it's all repaired now," America said with ultimate confidence.

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

Also making its way out of the city was another car – however, this one was far more stylish, classy and sophisticated than Russia's beat-up Volga, Romano's hire car and even Prussia's awesome van. The flamingo-pink Ferrari roared through the city. At the wheel was, of course, Poland (who else?). He had the roof down, his shoulder-length blond hair whipping behind him in the breeze. Who else would have the roof down in December, in Leningrad?

"See! Nought to sixty in less than ten seconds, Liet! What a car eh?"

Beside him, Liet was freezing to death. He hugged himself, his threadbare coat pulled tight around him. "Doesn't it have a heater?" he shouted above the noise.

"Like, Liet, we gotta have the roof down!"

"Pol, it's minus 15!"

'Pol' sighed and pressed a button and the roof slid back over them.

"It's okay for you... hey! Where did you get that fur coat from?" Lithuania said.

"It's not real fur, honey, it's fake fur..."

"And what's with all the new clothes? And make-up? And your hair?" Lithuania frowned. Poland was usually as poor if not poorer than him.

"I came into some money, honey. And I've got something that's going to make us even more..." Poland said and nodded to the back seat where, wrapped carefully in cellophane was Latvia/Lucinda Lovelace's latest novel 'Love and Bullets', as yet unpublished...

"No way... you can't..." Lithuania shook his head.

"I'm not stealing, I'll give her the money. I'm just going to take my commission. Think of me as her agent, sweetie," Poland said.

"I need to go home," Lithuania said, shaking his head, he wanted no part in this.

"Sweetie, I've got enough money now that you and I need never work again."

"You never did work," Lithuania pointed out.

"Well... okay. _You_ need never work again."

Lithuania opened his mouth to say something.

"No, don't thank me. I love you too."

"No, Pol, I have to go back. When Mr Russia's gets back..."

"He's going to be gone ages. The big moron will go into maniac mode somewhere, upset loads of people, almost cause world war three and, honey, we don't want to be anywhere within a hundred miles when it all kicks off."

(Poland was more correct about all this than he knew.)

"Think of it like a holiday. We'll go see to some business and then go get ourselves some sun..."

Lithuania shook his head. It was fruitless to argue. Poland was always dragging him into trouble. He may as well just sit back and enjoy the ride...

**Author's Notes:**

**5 _g_ – gravitational force g or g-force 5 – more than equivalent to the gravitational pull you would get from a rollercoaster.**

**Hanatamago – Sweden and Finland's dog**

**Lucozade – an energy drink**

**What is Sealand anyway? A micronation? A principality?**

**Jerry – a common derogative term for a German soldier in World War II.**

**Allemagne sans pantolons – Germany without pants**

**Uncle Joe – the Allies' term for Joseph Stalin (the Soviet leader) during WWII – purely a propaganda name to make him sound more 'friendly'**

**Vera Lynn – a famous British singer from the 1940s who sang a lot of songs that were popular during the War**

**Père – French for father**

**Next Chapter, Author's advice: Never wake a tired Swede, never go shopping with a Dane and a Prussian, never share a caravan with France and England and presenting the new Mrs Russia... **


	13. Modern Girl

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, Vengeful Cat and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: sexual innuendo, Pru-Den, PolxLiet**

Chapter 12 – Modern Girl

Tuesday pm

"Pregnancy tests... pregnancy tests... where are the pregnancy tests?" Latvia muttered as she wandered through the large pharmacy, pretending that the two blond men following her were not with her.

"Aisle Three, madam," a random attendant replied, looking Latvia up and down.

"Thank-you," Latvia said gratefully, crossing to said aisle.

"Kesese! Raivis is buying condoms!" Prussia decided to shout (Latvia had told him to call her by her human name while in public in order not to arouse suspicion, which Prussia surprisingly agreed to do. This compliancy may have been something to do with the various threats of disembowelment that Latvia issued every few minutes...)

"Sod off, Gilbert!" Latvia hissed, looking for the cheapest pregnancy test on the stand, thinking that she'd buy two just to be sure, whilst simultaneously fighting a slight feeling of nausea.

"Kesese! You're going to need extra small for fat commie bastard though!" Gilbert yelled.

"They don't make condoms Ivan-size in this tiddly little country," Raivis said, waving a packet of 'Trojan XL' at the Prussian and then realising she was descending to the Awesome One's level, she added "... and he's not fat, it's all," and emphasised the word 'all' "...muscle."

"Dude chick likes fat commie," Gilbert concluded and started perusing the leaflets on pregnancy.

Meanwhile, Denmark was perusing the neighbouring aisle, which in addition to condoms and other forms of contraception, contained... less appropriate items, shall we say.

"Stop waving that around, Mathias, it's obscene!" Latvia soon shouted at the Dane upon seeing him waving one of these items about. "And put that little bottle down, I highly doubt you're going to be using that anytime soon and I'm certainly not buying it for you, my God."

"You don't know what I do!" Denmark yelled, disturbing various customers with his loud voice.

"Thank God I don't..." Latvia answered. "I mean really, though, I'm not buying you that bloody thing – Gilbert! Give that lady her baby's bottle back! Oh, I'm sorry madam, he does this from time to time, no one knows why. I think he was dropped on his head as a baby. Mathias! What did I say about that thing! It's not a toy! Oh... maybe it is... Oh bloody hell, if this is what motherhood is like I swear to God..."

"Dude chick needs to chillaxe!" Gilbert said.

Ten minutes later, Latvia, Prussia and Denmark left the pharmacy with a small bag containing the two pregnancy tests, a small bottle that Denmark had insisted he needed, some random thing Prussia had broken and so they'd had to buy it, and a lifetime ban from a pharmacy in Helsinki's city centre. "Kesese, that was awesome! My favourite part was when that kid got his head stuck in the medicine stand and they had to call management to help him out! Ace!"

At this point, pregnancy hormones raging and tolerance levels at an all-time low, Latvia calmly handed the carrier bag to Denmark (who attempted to balance it on his head), pulled her arm back, and punched Prussia out cold in a move that would have made Russia proud, had he seen it.

Sealand watched, with great interest from the driver's seat in Prussia's awesome van – which had just got its second parking ticket.

Dude Den picked up his 'awesome' friend, threw him over his shoulder and carried on walking as if nothing had happened.

Latvia followed, nodding approvingly. At least one of the morons was trainable.

They passed a newspaper stand and barely registered the headline on the early edition of Helsinki Evening News – 'Lost Da Vinci Auction Frenzy'.

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

Romano was in a telephone box, a scarf muffling his mouth as he dialled the number, "Ciao!"

"Privet?" came a sweet, little girlish voice.

Who on earth was this? Romano racked his considerable intellect. It wasn't any of the trembling bastards and it certainly wasn't Ukraine.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"This is Secretary Ivanova, comrade," came the little girly lisp.

"Who?"

"I'm Miss Braginskaya's secretary, can I help you?"

Romano frowned, what on earth was going on?

"Is Ivan Braginski there?" Romano asked, already knowing the answer and ready for his follow-up question.

There was a long pause and then, "Nyet, he is on business."

"On business where?"

"Helsinki," there was a pause then... "That's in Finland," Miss Ivanova said confidently.

"I know that! I'm not stupido," Romano was outraged and slammed the telephone down. Bingo! He now knew where to go. He got in his hire car, adjusted his disguise which he'd decided would come in useful – a huge false moustache and sunglasses and headed for the road to Helsinki.

Another person attempted to telephone Russia's household.

"Hello? Is Raivis there?" Lily asked as the telephone was picked up, expecting Lithuania to answer – he usually did. However, Lithuania was at that moment in a pink sports car heading west with a Polish man dressed in a designer Coco Chanel suit complete with diamante earrings (Poland was dressed in the designer suit, not Lithuania).

"Just a minute..." the secretary said, put down her nail file with a sigh and yelled ear-splittingly, "Miss Braginskaya! Telephone!" and then added sweetly into the receiver, "The boss is just coming."

"Da?" Katya appeared in the doorway to her brother's study.

(If Ivan had been angry at the make-over of his basement by Poland into an 8 year old girl's dream, he would have been equally horrified at the scene in his study. Miss Ivanova (no relation) had prettified his study to the _n_th degree. There was an assortment of stuffed animals adorning his desk, a flowery throw on his leather chair, the Battle of Moscow painting that stood over the fireplace had been replaced with a truly ghastly picture of kittens wearing cute hats. She had also replaced the blood-red velvet curtains with pretty floral ones with tassel tie-backs. But worst of all, and a change that would have had Russia kolkolling if he wasn't charging across the border to Finland, she had thrown his vodka out.)

Katya took the telephone from her, gave the girl a piece of paper and told her, "Type this up, please."

Miss Ivanova looked at the IBM computer on Russia's desk (Estonia's pride and joy) and proceeded to spend the best part of an hour attempting to put paper in the screen as if it were a typewriter.

Katya smiled, that should keep the girl quiet and stop her from doing any more make-overs, she thought.

"Is Raivis there?" Lily asked again.

"Nyet, is that you, Lily?"

"Yes, I just wanted to speak to Raivis. Is that you, Miss Ukraine?"

"Da. How are you, Lily?" Katya sat herself down on Russia's couch, watched with much amusement as her secretary taped the piece of paper to the monitor and started typing on the keyboard and looked in total confusion as nothing appeared.

"I'm fine..."

"How is your husband?" Katya asked, settling herself down for a nice long gossip.

She smoothed down her Red Army uniform. She'd told the Soviet government that her brother was indisposed for a while and that she would be acting as 'Mrs Russia' for a few days. To say they'd been delighted had been an understatement. Celebratory fireworks had gone off in the Kremlin at the news. However, if they thought Katya was going to be a pushover they were going to be sadly disappointed.

"So what happened with you and Icy? Me and Ed had to leave quickly. Did Vash really kick little Icy around the island?" Katya asked, hungry for gossip – she could pass this on to Pol later.

"Yes, he did and he won't let me see him," Lily answered, ignoring the fact that he was laid upstairs as she spoke, still exhausted after their 'marital activities'.

"Noooo, oh that's unfair," Katya said.

"I know but I have a plan. I need to speak to Raivis."

"She's not here. She ran away," Katya said.

"Where to?" Lily asked.

"Well, Ed – he's so clever... he's tracked her down to Helsinki and Vanya's gone after her. I mean, did you know that her and Vanya... at Vienna..."

"Oh yes! It's so romantic!" Lily squealed. "She told me all about it on the phone the other day."

"They met in the war." The two women said in unison.

Then they both giggled.

"Hahaha, under some bushes, honestly!" Katya still thought this was hilarious. "Yes, anyway, Vanya's gone after her. He's really smitten, but we don't know why she just upped and went. Do you know?"

Lily considered this, "No, I don't. Poor Mr Russia. I thought Raivis was in love with him," Lily sighed. This all scuppered her plans somewhat. On to Plan B, then. But Latvia and Russia's involvement in her plan would have given it more 'umph'. "I hope he catches up with her," Lily said.

"So do I. I think they're making things very complicated," Katya said as she watched her secretary fiddling again with the computer.

"I don't think this typewriter works, Miss Katya," Miss Ivanova said, shaking her blond head.

"I have to go, Lily, speak soon. Let me know how things go on and if you see Latvia, please ring me."

"Well, I hope they get together soon, Miss Ukraine... Raivis wouldn't stop talking about him when I spoke to her... anyway, bye Miss Ukraine. I'll let you know if I get any news," Lily said with the promise of any further gossip and hung up.

* * *

><p>Leningrad to Helsinki road<p>

Unfortunately for Estonia, who was sat in the passenger seat of Russia's black Volga, Russia was driving. Although this was a very loose term for what Russia was doing. The Estonian was covering his eyes for much of the way as Russia aimed the car, rather than drove the car along the highway. He sometimes and it has to be stressed, only sometimes, had one hand on the wheel. He never had both hands on the wheel. Heavy rock music blasted out from the battered tape deck, Russia puffed on a cigarette and alternated puffs with swigs from a vodka bottle. Estonia had pointed out that he should not drink and drive, but Russia had poo-pooed this, telling the younger Nation that he 'never spilled any'.

They'd stopped off at a petrol station – the exact same one that Latvia and Prussia had stopped at, filled up with petrol, bought more 'provisions', namely vodka, cigarettes, chocolate and Estonia had managed to steer Russia away before he bought an ice scraper – because 'it looked like a good weapon to have'. Estonia shook his head, what kind of person in their right mind would think a car accessory would make a suitable weapon?

However, by late afternoon they'd reached the border crossing with Finland and sat in the usual mile long queue eating chocolate and doing the crossword.

"Look at all these people!" Russia exclaimed, pointing at the queue to leave his beloved motherland, "They all want to leave Russia."

"Who'd have thought?" Estonia answered.

"I know!" the sarcasm was lost on Russia as he watched wide-eyed as the line of mainly lorries, but also cars, attempted to leave Soviet Russia.

* * *

><p>On the M20 road Leningrad to Riga<p>

Also well on their way out of Soviet Russia was Pol and Liet, unconsciously resembling _Thelma and Louise_ as Pol put his foot to the pedal and 'high-tailed it' (his words) out of Russia to Latvia (the country, not Raivis/Latty-kins).

"Why are we going to Latvia, Pol?" Lithuania asked. They were two hours from Leningrad and still had many hours to go. But at least Pol had pulled the roof back down and it now covered them from the Russian winter temperatures and the heater was on.

"Latty's publishers, darling," Pol answered.

"That manuscript has nothing to do with you, Pol. I told you. You shouldn't have stolen it."

"I'm just acting as her agent, sweetie. She obviously forgot it. I'll deliver it to her publisher and then bingo... another bestselling novel by Lucinda Lovelace."

Toris sighed. He loved Poland, he really did. He'd loved him since 1569 and they'd been lovers/best friends ever since. But sometimes, some of the things Pol did were morally ambiguous to say the least.

"But she might not want it to be published," Toris protested.

"Of course she did!"

"How do you know? Did she tell you she did?"

"Noooo not exactly, in so many words. But why write it otherwise?"

"What's it about anyway?" Toris said, giving up. Poland's brand of logic sometimes had that effect on him.

"It's about a girl sniper in World War II, meets a Russian officer, they have awesome sex under some bushes..."

"Ugh..."

"I know right... I mean a man and a woman? Who knew?"

"No, Pol, I mean under bushes..."

"Oh right. Anyway, he goes off, fights a load of Germans, gets injured, she thinks he's buggered off, she goes off and fights lots of Germans... little Latty doesn't like Germans – there's a lots of German-killing.."

"Get on with it, Pol."

"Okay okay, honestly. Well there's loads of angst and she nearly shoots him, saves his life and then they have loads of fantastic ground-shaking sex again and blah blah blah..."

"How can it be fantastic?"

"Well, he's really huge... and then he..."

"Oh God, Pol! I mean how can it be fantastic in the middle of a war?"

"Oh right... well, I suppose if you concentrate really hard..."

"It sounds rubbish. Where on earth has she got all this from?"

"Well, little Latvia," (here Pol said the words 'little Latvia' in a weird high sing-song voice which he thought was hysterically akin to Russia's) "... is not as innocent as she makes out..."

"Hmmm. Did you know that they'd... you know... in Vienna...?" Toris did not want to say the word sex in relation to Latvia and Russia.

"Nooo way! O. M. G."

"Well, they did."

"Where? Tell me it was in that funny vet's surgery... in that dog pen? How hilarious," Poland laughed so hard that he nearly swerved into oncoming traffic. "... and how tacky... dear oh dear... Braginski, you dog... hahaha. See what I did, Liet? What a dog?"

Liet sighed, "No, not in the dog pen. It was back at Austria's house."

"How did I not know?"

"Because we were doing woohoo?" Lithuania said.

"Haha, oh yes, Liet, that was totally ground-shaking..."

Liet sighed again.

"So where is this publisher again?" Liet asked his best friend.

"Riga, sweetie. We'll book into a nice hotel – the honeymoon suite and go see them in the morning."

"You can't just walk in, Pol."

"I know, that's why I made an appointment, Liet. I'm not as daft as you look."

Toris ignored this, "Why would they want to see you?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"And why shouldn't they see me? I mean look at me?" Pol said and caught a look at himself in the mirror and pursed his red lipsticked lips.

Toris did, he had to admit Pol did look... striking, "No, I mean, why would they want to meet you – Feliks Lukasiewicz?"

"They're not meeting me."

"But you said..."

"Keep up, darling. They're meeting Lucinda Lovelace."

"But she's..." Toris then finally realised what Poland was going to do, "You're not going to pretend to be her?"

"Well, she is unavailable. I'll just sort this out for her and do the publicity for her."

"What publicity?"

"Publicity, sweetie. There's always publicity when a new novel comes out."

"You've got to be joking."

"Of course I am," Poland said, unconvincingly.

"By the way, Pol. You do look lovely and don't take this the wrong way. But why on earth are you wearing that skirt?" Toris said carefully. He was used to seeing Poland in a skirt, but usually it was around the other Nations – to wind them up (particularly Russia, Germany and England – the sight of the cross-dressing Pole often caused them much irritation) and it didn't really bother him that much, but actually when they were alone together Poland dressed much the same as him.

"Because there aren't pants big enough for these balls, honey," Pol laughed and squeezed his friend's hand, his other hand resting on the steering wheel, his face full of joy.

Lithuania could think of no answer to this. And, actually, neither can the author.

'This was it,' he thought, 'a life of leisure and fast cars with my best friend'. Pol then pressed his foot on the accelerator, pushing the small sports car up to 100 miles an hour and laughed with sheer joy.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes: The Kremlin is the fortified complex in the heart of Moscow used as the government seat – where the government officials meet.<strong>

**I'm taking liberties with Estonia having an IBM computer – there weren't many around – computers that is – only in very big companies, government offices and universities and they were very basic – this is early 1980s.**

**I based 'Miss Ivanova' off a ditsy friend of mine who I once went to college with – she used to cover her desk with cuddly animals and once tried to use tippex (or correcting fluid) on a computer monitor... I like the idea of humans interacting with Nations – the whole idea amuses me. Expect more humans making cameo appearances.**

**The border crossing on the route from Leningrad/St Petersburg to Helsinki is apparently one of the busiest and often has a mile long queue of trucks. (Have made much use of Google maps for this fic – don't know what I would do without it.)**

**_Thelma and Louise _ - a film in the 1990s about two women who take a convertible across the American mid-West and escape their humdrum boring lives/awful husband/boyfriends and become outlaws and heroines. (Good film)**

**The M20 is the road out of St Petersburg/Leningrad and goes through southern Estonia to Latvia - but whether this road was there in the 1980s when this fic is set I'm not sure - I couldn't find any maps from the 1980s... any Latvians, Estonians or Russians or anyone feel free to correct me.**

**1569 – the Union of Lublin when Lithuania and Poland were joined in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.**

**Woohoo – Liet's word for sex (the same term is used in The Sims game)**

**Next Chapter – a sea crossing, Russia vs Sweden (which was supposed to be in this chapter, but I've over-run - I'm trying to shorten the chapters a tad) and six Nations in a caravan, 3 Nations in a motel room, and what did the Nations do before TV?**


	14. Vi är dom tuffaste

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, Vengeful Cat and all my anonymous readers.**

Warnings: sexual innuendo, France, Pru-Den

Chapter 13 – Vi är dom tuffaste

A small caravan on an estate on the outskirts of Vienna, Austria - Tuesday evening

"What are your terms of surrender?" Captain Arthur Kirkland said to Roderich Edelstein.

"Was los ist?" Austria was pressed up against the wall of his caravan with a gun pressed against his head. It was not the best ending to what had turned out to be a rubbish day.

"Never mind all that Kraut rubbish. Where's that big, bloody, blond Kraut idiot?" Captain Kirkland continued (presumably he meant Ludwig).

As they'd arrived at Austria's mansion, he'd immediately taken charge of the situation. Obviously, the RAF had made a direct hit on the 'Nazi stronghold' and the 'Nazi scum' were about to surrender. Many Germans were already busy at work he saw, approvingly, as POWs. He was rather surprised, however, at the lack of guards overseeing them. After all, they were Germans and not Italians and so could not be relied upon to just make a run for it. He'd rummaged through his suitcase and found his olive green World War II uniform and pulled it on. 'Can't negotiate a surrender in civvies,' he thought.

Austria looked around for help, his face registering total confusion.

Hungary shook her head, "What the hell is going on?" she said.

"Ah Hungary. It's a shame you're on the side of this nefarious bunch. I thought better of you..." England said.

"What? I did what I thought was best for my country. I didn't want to declare war," Hungary was outraged.

"I suppose you're going to surrender now?" Arthur continued.

"Nein, get your hands off me, you ungracious oaf," Austria said.

"You're better off surrendering to us," here, England waved a hand at a very amused France and a confused America, "Than Russia. Because when he gets here..." England let the threat hang.

Austria went white and Hungary grabbed her frying pan, "If that bloody big idiot comes charging in again I'll give him what for," she said, threateningly.

Belarus growled at this, but had to admit a certain admiration for the Hungarian.

Austria put a restraining arm on her and then stood in front of her protectively, "This isn't war," he said quietly.

America shook his head, 'Europeans! What a strange bunch?' he thought, and turned to France, "Explain, frog-face," he said.

France, who had been enjoying all this immensely, said, "Honhonhon, Arthur thinks he is back in World War Two."

"Well that's plainly obvious," Austria said, pushing his spectacles up his nose and glaring in his most imperious manner at the Englishman.

"Will you surrender, good Sir?" England said.

"Honhonhon, I bet he will, he has surrendered himself to me many times!" France said.

"You can just shut your mouth!" Austria exclaimed, appalled (however he didn't deny the fact).

Hungary made to hit France, but stopped as England trained the gun on her, "I don't like shooting girlies, it's just not cricket, even if you are going to hit France. But he's my ally and by God, I will if I have to," he said.

Austria shoved Hungary behind him protectively and squared up to England, "You have no right to barge into my caravan and wave guns around!"

"Will you submit?" England asked, still waving the pistol around dangerously.

"Honhonhon, oh yes! If he doesn't, I will!" France said, absolutely enthralled and almost swooning.

"I wasn't asking you!" England turned on him and was wrestled to the floor by America.

"Sorry dude Arthur, but can't have you waving guns around, that's my job," America said, taking the pistol from him.

Hungary stepped out from behind Austria and then smacked her ex-husband on the arm, "Why didn't you do that?" she asked indignantly.

"Well, in case you didn't notice I had a gun up my nose!" Austria replied, utterly appalled.

Hungary was disappointed and stroked America's arm, craftily feeling his bicep, "Oooh Alfred! Have you been working out?"

"Actually, I haven't! But I have been playing this cool light sabre training game. I'm onto Jedi Level 10!" Alfred said, dragging England to his feet.

France grabbed England's arms and held him fast.

England writhed, "Unhand me, you foppish twit! I will not marry you!"

"Maybe I should hit him again?" America asked, looking at Belarus for permission. Much as he loved England – as a type of brother/friend/mentor whatever, he actually found he rather liked hitting him.

Hungary wielded her frying pan and said demonically, "Let me do that..."

Belarus held up a hand, "Anyone touches him and they are dead. I will call big brother Russia and believe me, Mr Austria, Miss Hungary, America... world war two will look like a walk in the park," she said, and then added for good measure, "France, get your hands out of Arthur's pants!"

"Ah mon dieu! He was about to surrender to me!" France protested.

"No, I bloody well was not! You bloody pervert!" England protested.

"I was not even going to hit anyone!" Austria protested.

"That's always your bloody problem, Rod," Hungary said ruefully.

Belarus lost it – the plot that is, "Everybody shut up! Now! France, get your hands off my Arthur. America, if you hit him again then my brother will hit you so hard _you_ will be back in 1944."

"Actually it's 1945," England piped up.

Belarus burst into tears.

Hungary lowered her frying pan, Austria sighed heavily and wiped his glasses, America shook his head and then whispered to Austria, "We'll explain..." and as France coughed, said hurriedly, nodding to France, "Well, _he'll _explain in a bit."

England tentatively put his arms around Belarus and pulled her gently to his chest, "Oh Miss Belarus. I'm so sorry."

Belarus broke into renewed sobs and flung her arms around his neck, bawling on his uniform.

"It must have been so hard for you..." Arthur continued, concern in his green eyes.

France sniggered, "Honhonhon. I bet it was! No wonder she is pregnant!" he said and was then hauled out by the scruff of his neck by America.

Hungary was about to say something, but was also pulled out of the door by Austria, "Come on, Liz, better leave them to it."

"Oh Arthur!" Belarus sniffed.

"I know, I know," England gently patted her back, "It's been difficult on all of us. It's been a long and bloody war. Your country got hit hard didn't it? Don't worry, we're near the end now and I'm sure Ivan is on his way."

Belarus clung to England. "It's not that... oh Arthur... I think I'm pregnant!" she sobbed, his uniform now soaked.

England gently stroked her hair, "Oh, poor Miss Belarus. Tell me who did this? We'll get the scoundrel..."

Belarus sniffed hard and looked up into his clear green eyes, "Oh Arthur... you don't remember?"

* * *

><p>Helsinki, Finland<p>

A slightly short man (although you couldn't tell as he was sat in a car), muffled up in an overcoat, with a ridiculously large fake moustache underlining a remarkably cute nose (well a certain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo thought so), bad-tempered amber eyes with dark circles around them hidden behind dark glasses was watching the road. "Come on, you vodka bastard," Romano said. He was getting fed up of this. Why hadn't the big Russian died? What kind of person, demon, survives an explosion?

His eyes behind the dark glasses widened as a beaten up black Volga came into view, swept past him and pulled into the driveway opposite.

"Ha! Got you, big idiota!" Romano exclaimed, to no-one in particular. Actually Romano was quite pleased. He'd thought that Russia had been unharmed by his explosion, but that didn't look to be the case. The Russian appeared to have a hand bandaged up and blood was seeping from the wound and it looked as if Estonia was driving.

Estonia was driving, but if Romano thought Russia had been wounded by his actions, then he was sadly mistaken.

* * *

><p>It wasn't because of Russia's wounded hand that Estonia was driving. They'd been stopped just over the Finnish-Russian border by the Finnish police. The reason? Several really. Russia drove like a demon at the best of times – around Leningrad he was well known to local police, his government number plates being the only reason he was not pulled over every time he drove.<p>

However, here on the open highway Russia pumped the accelerator – pushing the battered car up to 100 miles per hour (much like Pol in his Ferrari). But, as a driver, Russia was not in the same league as Pol. Russia's first driving lessons had been in army trucks. And he drove the Volga as if he were driving an army truck, swerving along the road, forcing many cars to cross lanes to avoid him. If he could have, he would have driven _over _them. Much of this was due to the fact that he was easily distracted and could not keep his eyes on the road. He had a dangerous habit of chatting to Estonia with his face turned to the other Nation. All Estonia could do was close his eyes.

The only thought running through Russia's head was to get to Latvia (the person not the country) as quickly as possible and fix whatever was wrong, promise her anything and bring her back, safe in his arms. So when the blue flashing light appeared in his rear view mirror he saw it as an unwelcome obstruction.

"You have to stop, Sir," Estonia said.

"Nyet," Russia said most decisively.

"You have to. Besides they'll outrun us. We're in a 6 year old Volga, with bust suspension, a broken bumper and a cracked windscreen."

Instead of pulling over like normal, sane people, Russia slammed his size 14 boot on the brake and Estonia, if it weren't for Russia's restraining arm across his chest, would have sailed through the already broken windscreen.

"Can I see your licence?" the young Finnish policeman said, tapping on Russia's window.

Russia considered this. He actually didn't have a valid driving licence that covered cars. He had an army licence that covered trucks, tanks and, weirdly, tractors.

The young policeman – he actually looked about 12 years old – tapped on the glass again.

Russia made an executive decision and punched the policeman through the window – not deigning to bother to wind it down first. Glass shattered and the young cop fell like a sack of potatoes.

Russia smiled grimly, "Sorry, officer. Not today," he said chirpily and sped off.

It was several miles down the road before Estonia got Russia to stop the car and they swapped over. Estonia finally relaxed, gave his scarf to Russia to bind his wounded hand and they set off at a much more leisurely pace to Tino's house.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile on the Viking Line Ferry, Helsinki to Tallinn<p>

It had taken Latvia and Den twenty minutes to get Prussia to leave his beloved van deep in the bowels of the car ferry.

"I'll see you later, don't worry I'll be back soon," Pru had whispered to the steering wheel and then had patted the bonnet.

It had been Den who had driven them to the ferry, Pru having been unconscious from Latvia's punch for much of the way and Pru had been horrified that someone else had driven his awesome van. He decided that although Den was awesome, he wasn't nearly awesome enough to drive his van.

Latvia actually agreed with him. She wasn't going to punch Prussia again. As erratic as his driving was, he was far better by a mile than Den who jigged the steering wheel in time to the music, shouted out of the window at random pedestrians (particularly women), honked the horn at very large, angry looking lorry drivers, skidded around corners and didn't seem to believe that there was a gear above first or second. Therefore the engine whined in protest as did the clutch.

By the time they got on the ferry, Latvia felt sick again and as the boat started to move, this feeling accelerated and she spent much of the two hour crossing dry-heaving over the side. She already hated being pregnant, if pregnant she was. But she actually _felt _pregnant, her boobs hurt, she had to pee every half an hour, she felt sick and her hormones were on a par with PMT x 100.

It was probably a good job that Russia had not caught up with her just yet, as it was, she felt like punching the big Russian in the head - he was the one who got her into this mess.

Prussia spent much of the voyage trying to chat up the girl in the gift shop (and telling her about his 'five metres'), the same girl who'd sold Den a child's Viking helmet and a rubber axe. He got nowhere – the awesome Gilbert that is. Unlike Denmark, he got everywhere and as Latvia laid herself down on a bench on deck and closed her eyes, trying to calm her rolling stomach, the big Dane skidded past her, yelling "Yay! We're off to invade Estonia... I'm the King of Northern Europe and nothing shall stand in my way!" Latvia would have stood in his way, however, sea-sickness and pregnancy sickness had took its toll and she ignored the big loon as he ran to the front of the boat, held his rubber axe aloft and shouted, "I will return Estonia to Danmark!"

Nobody took any notice, perhaps the ferry from Helsinki to Tallinn was used to blond nut-jobs. Only a group of boy scouts took any notice and approached Den, asking for his autograph, "Bad Santa!" they chanted – he'd become a bit of an urban playground legend.

Sealand however, was far more proactive. He'd managed to insinuate himself onto the Captain's Bridge where the crew thought he must be on some school trip. He then proceeded to tell them how to operate the ship, how the instruments they used were 'out of date' and that he had 'over 30 years maritime experience' and that if they needed 'advice' or someone 'to skipper the ship' he would help out. He was ejected rather quickly and told to go back to his teacher.

* * *

><p>Helsinki, Finland<p>

Russia rang the doorbell and then hammered on the door impatiently. "Come on, come on..." he muttered. He was about to use the services of Mr Pipe when the door was flung open.

A tall Swedish man with glasses hanging off one ear, his hair looked like it had never seen a comb, bloodshot eyes and a stained pink apron around his waist. All in all, it looked as if Sweden really, really needed a good night's sleep. As it happened, Russia and Estonia had just woken him from a much needed nap.

"Do you realise I had just got to sleep?" Berwald demanded.

"Nyet, are you ill? Why are you asleep in the afternoon?" Russia asked. It was a daft question coming from Russia of all people, who could fall asleep at anytime and anywhere.

"I am not ill," Berwald said, through gritted teeth. Having just got rid of Den, and to a lesser degree, Peter, he'd managed to have an hour of undisturbed peace and now this...

"You don't have children do you?"

"Nyet, but I would like lots!" Russia said chirpily (unbeknownst to him, his little Latvia was going to make this wish come partially true). He pushed past the Swede and went into the house, calling "Latviaaaa!" as he went.

"Ha! You can have mine," Sweden said, "I mean it, when they get back, take them... please..." said a voice borne of desperation.

Estonia sighed, he really hoped that Latvia was here. He'd never seen his boss so frantic and he'd got little snatches of Russia's feelings for Raivis and although Estonia's cynical thoughts mainly were for his credit card, he also wanted to see Russia happy. A happy Russia meant a happy household which meant a happy Ukraine, who he decided, with a sudden jolt and something he certainly had never bargained on, he was in love with.

"Where is she?" Russia asked the Swede.

Estonia backed off. He could see, even if Russia was oblivious, that Berwald was on his way into a bad mood. Intimidating anyway, in appearance even more so than Russia as he often rarely said anything and often did not smile (Russia's appearance was the opposite – all big, wide childish smiles and sing-song voice), Sweden was now stood eye to eye with Russia and was not looking pleased.

"She's gone," Berwald said.

"Where to?"

"Tallin."

Russia, who was usually far more garrulous, switched to the same one word clipped tone as Sweden, "Alone?" he asked.

"No."

Russia's eyebrows shot up, "Wut?"

"Gilbert, Mathias and Peter."

Russia snarled at this. Latvia's choice of travelling companions was clearly unacceptable, "They have kidnapped her?"

Berwald frowned at this. In his opinion it did not look as if Latvia was being forced to go/do anything.

At that moment, Russi-cat shot out of the carnage that was Finland's living room (which had the appearance of someone having thrown a grenade inside and shut the door) and jumped into Russia's arms.

"Boris! Here you are! Did Aija take you with her for company?" Russia asked the cat. The cat replied with a 'meow'. "Did she miss me?" he asked Berwald.

Sweden frowned, as far as he knew Latvia had been gone less than 24 hours.

"I'm home," came a call and Santa walked in. "Oh..." Finland's cheery countenance changed to worry at the sight of Russia and Sweden obviously both in a bad mood.

Estonia smiled. He was always pleased to see Santa... or Finland.

"Are you looking for Latvia?" Santa asked and then regretted it.

Russia grabbed him by the arms, "What do you know about it? Is she okay?" he asked desperately.

Sweden did not appreciate Russia grabbing his 'wife'.

"Yer can let go of Tino, Ivan," he said.

Russia set Tino down, but matched Sweden's glares with some of his own.

Before it could turn into a huge, unending, glaring match, Tino spoke up, edging his way between the two six foot giants (well, giant in comparison with the diminutive Santa), "She was okay, but a little bit upset," Tino said, choosing his words with care.

"Upset? Why? What has that Prussian done to her? Awesome me, indeed..." Russia said the words 'awesome me' in a very camp, lispy German accent. He then brought a fist down on the kitchen worktop – which subsequently cracked from end to end.

This was too much for Berwald, "I built that only last month!" he said, his eyes blazing and he looked set to go into full Viking mode.

Tino and Eduard exchanged glances. The former pulled a bottle of beer out of the fridge for his 'husband' whilst Eduard, ever prepared, pulled a bottle of vodka out of his briefcase for Russia.

"Right! Everyone calm down! Or... or..." here Tino struggled to think, "No-one will be getting a visit from Santa!"

Berwald just frowned and glugged his beer and was already pulling his tape measure out from his tool belt to measure the damaged worktop.

Russia looked at Tino in horror, "Noooo!" he said, his purple eyes wide with childish disbelief, "I've been really good this year!"

Tino shook his head, his visits to the Nations were, he told them, dependent on they're being 'good'. It need not be said that France had not been visited by Santa for many years.

Russia's idea of 'good' meant he hadn't killed/maimed too many people/Nations that year.

"Why did she leave me? Has Prussia taken her? Kidnapped her?" Russia's purple eyes blazed. Although it was easier to think that she hadn't left of her own accord, the idea of Prussia taking her by force made his fists itch.

Tino sat the big Russian down and started, quietly and methodically to dress Russia's wounded hand.

"She was okay," he reassured Russia, "Gilbert hadn't hurt her."

Berwald grunted at this, his own opinion of Gilbert wasn't much higher than Russia's.

"She just needed..." here Tino hesitated. He couldn't tell Russia that Latvia suspected she was pregnant. She'd told him in confidence, and, like a priest, Santa should never betray a confidence, "She needed space," he said finally.

"Space? Space?" Russia spluttered, "Isn't Russia big enough?" (Clearly he meant the country and not... oh well, Lord knows what France would have made of _that _line.)

Russia was oblivious to the weirdness of his utterance. Berwald merely raised an eyebrow, Estonia almost choked. Tino, who had formerly lived with Russia long enough to understand the Slavic Nation's lapses into childish innocence, merely ignored him.

"And why is Denmark with them?" Russia aimed this question at the Swede, "He is supposed to live here with you, nyet? You have charge of him, nyet? Big stupid Dane is not allowed out on his own or live on his own."

'Hmm, who does that sound like?' Estonia thought, looking at his boss.

Berwald, who was having none of this, said, "I asked them to get him out of the house for a few hours. You should try living with him. I haven't slept in a week. Beer, Button Moon, an unhealthy obsession with Scooby Doo, shouting obscenities at passers-by..."

Estonia nodded as repressed memories of life living under the reign of Denmark resurfaced.

"I asked them to drop Peter at school," Berwald said.

"If they have hurt my little Aija..." Russia's fist closed on the vodka bottle he was gripping and it shattered, vodka spilling across the table. "Vodkaaaa!" he said, suddenly upset.

"Den's a big harmless loon, he won't hurt her and Gilbert is all mouth," Berwald said decisively. It was his opinion that Latvia would have got the measure of the Prussian and the Dane and, eerily echoing Gilbert's thoughts that forty years living with Russia would toughen up the gentlest person – surely she would be as hard as nails by now.

Before Russia could comment further on Prussia and Denmark's moral bankruptcy, there was a knock on the door.

Tino opened it to a scrawny thin woman, her hair badly in need of a wash, a beaky nose that would not have looked out of place on a snowman, very small beady eyes and the type of dress sense that hinted that she'd either got dressed in a wind tunnel, in the dark or probably both.

She held up a battered ID card, "Ms Germaine Pike, Truancy Officer," she emphasised the word 'Ms'.

Tino scrunched his nose. They'd had many run-ins with 'Ms Pike' or 'Witchface' as Peter called her or 'Ms Germoline Dyke' as Den had called her – calling into question the official's sexuality purely by the fact that she'd not reacted favourably to the sight of the Dane shirtless first thing in the morning (Den's litmus test).

"Peter is not at school again. That's the fourth time this month, Mr Vainamoinen," she said, raising an eyebrow at Tino's Santa outfit.

Tino sighed, "His Uncle Den was supposed to drop him off this morning."

"Is this the same oaf that called me a scarecrow?"

"Hmmm..."

"I appreciate Mr Vainamoinen that your living arrangements are unconventional."

Tino frowned at this, "Bloody homophobe," he thought as he saw the woman craning her neck to look around him (he kept her on the doorstep). The conversation filtering through from the kitchen was odd, to say the least. Russia sounded as if he were talking to himself. Berwald, Tino summised correctly, was probably already fixing the worktop whilst grunting in reply and Estonia would not answer unless he had to.

"Poor vodka... I should not get so angry with vodka... or Toris, or Esty or my little Aija. I miss her... I really do. She is so warm and soft. Like a little sunflower and I should take care of her like a little flower..." Russia was chirping to himself, his voice sounding sad and quite lonely.

Tino hoped that didn't mean Russia was going to put her in a pot and pour water on her.

As 'Ms Pike' expounded on the importance of regular school attendance and regulations, Tino had a brainwave. He had a small misgiving and a pang of guilt, but then shook it off.

Over the next hour, Ms Germaine Pike, or she was called by her new combatant, 'Gremlin Spike' or 'Germ Pile', was subjected to 'What is wrong with education today' – a speech/rant by Russia.

His views of state education were interesting to say the least. Russia did not like officials of any shape or form. Tino almost, almost felt sorry for her as Russia regaled the woman on his own school days and subsequent teenage years. Especially as he described the Golden Horde and as he accentuated a particularly gruelling day in the life of young Ivan (complete in short trousers in temperatures of minus 30 – which would go some way to explaining Russia's psyche) with Mr Pipe swishing within a hair's breadth of the woman's cranium.

"Children should be allowed to be children. They are the future. They are very precious, nyet? School is not good. Schoolyard bullies..." here Ivan broke off and then looked at his pipe in sudden remembrance and he grinned demonically, "Bullies should be made an example of, da?"

The woman snatched her handbag up and fled, vowing not to bother Peter Kirkland again. Clearly, dealing with a six foot two mentally unstable Russian who waved a faucet pipe around and ranted about the deficiencies of the Russian state education system interspersed with stories of decapitating Mongol Raiders was obviously not something that was included in her job description.

Outside in the driveway, Romano scrambled out from under Russia's car and brushed the dirt off his hands. 'That should do it,' he thought.

* * *

><p>Over in Tallinn, Pru, Den and Latvia raced to find a motel for the night, "I have to get to a television..." Den wailed in desperation. Latvia punched him, her stomach had finally stopped churning but her irritation was still high. Prussia ignored them, he was fed up of 'dude chick' and her continuous 'leaking' – if it wasn't coming out of one end, it was coming out of another. What they failed to realise was that they'd left a certain truanting schoolboy behind.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

**Vi är dom tuffaste – We are the toughest (I got this from the Swedish song by Nanne Grönvall/video on youtube by Skadipirate), I thought it was fitting for the glare-down between Sweden and Russia.**

**Was los ist – German for what is going on?**

**POWs – prisoners of war**

**Hungary fought on the side of the Axis during the Second World War and declared war on the Soviet Union and took part in the invasion of the Soviet Union, however, by 1943 they sought to surrender to the Allies. Hungary had a bad time of it – they were then occupied by German forces and then by the Soviets.**

**1938 - Austria was incorporated into Nazi Germany and ceased to exist as an independent country for a while. After the war, Austria was divided up into British, French, American and Soviet zones (like Germany) and Vienna was surrounded at the time by the Soviet zone – until 1955 when Austria became an independent country again.**

**Civvies – civilian clothes**

**Belarus was one of the hardest hit Soviet republics during WWII, it's reckoned about one third of the country's population were casualties.**

**As stated before I'm not anti-German, but WWII must have had a major impact on the Nations somehow and you can't just ignore it. So any Germans reading – references to 'Kraut' and 'Nazi' are not intended to offend. (Besides most ordinary Germans weren't Nazis...)**

**I think Arthur Kirkland has many personalities hidden away, depending on time frame. And we haven't seen them all yet. Let's see – pirate!England, Shakespeare England, WWII England...hmmm who's next?**

**Viking Line Ferry – that's its actual name... how awesome is that?**

**Danmark – Danish term for Denmark**

**Estonia came under the dominion of the King of Denmark from 1219 to 1346.**

**Finland was an autonomous Duchy under the Russian Empire from 1809 to 1917.**

**Russia 1-0 Truancy Officer (I don't like Education officials – can you tell?)**

**Next Chapter: This chapter over-ran again... so next chapter it's six Nations share a caravan, Pru-Den-Latvia silliness (with lots of sexual innuendo), we find out what it means to be in the Awesome Trio and Lily's makeover**

**Feel free to review/comment/PM etc**


	15. Baby, I Don't Care

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat and all my anonymous readers.**

Warnings: sexual innuendo, lots of Pru/Den/Latvia, France.

Chapter 14 – Baby, I Don't Care

Late Tuesday pm

"We have to check into a hotel before five!" Denmark exclaimed, his voice getting more and more panicky (no-one had ever seen him like this unless it was due to a lack of beer or hair-gel or both).

"Why?" Latvia enquired.

"Because... otherwise I'll miss Scooby Doo!"

"...Seriously, Denmark? Seriously?"

"Daphne's so hot..." Denmark said dreamily.

"No! Wait a minute!" Latvia slammed a hand on the dashboard.

"She is! That hair, those eyes. I hate Fred..." Denmark continued.

"No, it's Sealand. We left him behind on the ferry!"

"Yes, but he's an annoying little sod. He used to change channels when I wasn't looking," Den said.

"He's just a child and he's on his own. We have to go back," Latvia insisted.

"No way, dude. He'll be okay. He can take care of himself. He's probably conning a load of dudes out of their money," Pru said.

"You were supposed to take him to school, Denmark. You're going to be in trouble with Sweden and Finland," Latvia said.

"No way, dude. I'm not scared of them."

"Stop the van, and I'll ring them and then we're going back to the ferry," Latvia insisted.

"Dude chick..."

"Now!" she said and forced the point home with the help of her gun.

"Jeez, dude chick needs to chillax."

The next time you tell me to chillax, I am going to shoot you. Now get back to the ferry."

* * *

><p>Helsinki, Finland<p>

Russia and Estonia stepped out of Tino's house, having been replenished with vodka and beer, Santa and Sweden waving to them from the doorstep (Sweden muttering under his breath 'Thank God, I thought he was invading, m'wife,' Tino holding Russi-cat in his arms – Russia deciding it was best that the large cat stay with them until he'd finished his 'quest').

They jumped into the car, Estonia insisting on driving, and pulled out of the driveway to head to the ferry terminal. Turning into the traffic and putting his foot down, Estonia had a horrid feeling that something wasn't quite right. He turned to say something to Russia, put his foot on the brake and the car sailed straight on and crashed into a tree.

Romano, sat in his nearby hire car, smiled devilishly to himself. It was a shame about the computer bastard, but finally he'd got the vodka bastard., cutting the brake cable had been so easy. He could collect his money and..."Noooooooooooo!" he yelled as, to his utter horror, astonishment and amazement, Russia climbed out of the wreckage, dusted himself down and looked in utter bewilderment at the smashed car, scratching his blond head.

Romano's moustache fell off and he banged his head repeatedly on the steering wheel. How on earth do you kill a bloody Russian?

Russia could not understand what had happened. Why did Estonia drive into that tree? It was bizarre. It wasn't something Estonia normally did. Then he remembered – Estonia was still in the car and there was flames coming from the bonnet.

Russia stepped forward, opened the driver's door and pulled an unconscious Estonia out, carrying him to safety.

"Sir?" Estonia was just coming round as Russia flung him over his shoulder.

Russia thought it would be best to leave the talking for later as he saw the car was about to explode, so he put a sprint on and then leapt for it and flung Eduard down behind a parked car and crouched next to him, tucking the smaller Nation under him as the car's petrol tank exploded.

Romano shook his head, at least the trembling bastard was alright... "Dammit!" he yelled to no-one but himself, and watched with incredulity as Russia stood up, seemingly unaffected by his car exploding, flung Estonia over his shoulder as if he were a sack of potatoes and headed back to Tino's house.

* * *

><p>Inside the house, Sweden was looking very 'Daddish' and very worried, he shushed Russia as he stomped in, throwing Estonia down on a couch.<p>

Tino was on the telephone, "What do you mean you left him on the ferry? Why were you on a ferry? You were supposed to drop him at school and come home. I don't care what Gilbert said. He should be at school. No, I don't mean Gilbert, I would imagine no bloody school would have _him_. We had the truant officer here, yes that Ms Pike. Ivan spoke to her. Shut up, Mathias and don't call him that. Tallinn? Why are you there? Gilbert said... I don't care what he said. He's a bad influence. And I don't care about bloody Scooby Doo. Daphne is a cartoon character how many bloody times do I have to tell you?"

Russia looked up interested, it was very rare to hear Finland swear and then he realised the Finn was talking to Denmark and stepped up behind Tino next to Berwald and whispered, "Is Aija there? Is she okay? Tell him..."

Berwald put a hand on Russia's shoulder and just gave him a 'look'.

Russia ignored him, "Tino! Tell him that Aija should come home," he said in a desperate tone.

Tino carried on, "Denmark you had better find Peter and bring him home. If anything happens to that boy I will personally embed that blasted axe of yours in your stupid head. And you'd better get yourself home..." he didn't get to finish as the phone went dead.

"He hung up on me!" he said, appalled.

"Is Latvia with him?"

"I don't know, yes... I think so... he said 'we' and I think I heard her telling him... I am going to kill him."

"So, where are they?" Berwald and Russia both said together.

"Tallinn... anyway why are you back here?" Tino said, looking Russia up and down and then at Estonia who looked shocked, bruised and dishevelled.

"My car blew up!" Russia said, "It wasn't me," he added, as if someone had accused him.

"The brakes failed and I went into a tree," Estonia explained.

"I need to borrow your car so I can rescue little Latvia," Russia said.

"And I'm going to ring the police," Finland said.

"Good idea, then they can tow my car away."

"No, for Peter – they left him on the ferry and now they say he's not there and the CCTV showed him getting into a camper van driven by a load of vagabonds. They didn't get the registration number and... and..." here Tino almost broke down, "... he's just a boy!" he finished with a howl and buried his head in Sweden's chest.

"Oooh," Russia rubbed Tino's head gently, "I'm sure he'll be okay. He's half Kirkland isn't he? So he's got some magic? And he's a Nation... no... a..." here Russia looked at Estonia for help.

"He's a micronation, Sir."

Sweden took charge. He picked up the telephone, "Police, please," he told the operator and then proceeded to give the police operator details of Sealand's description, the ferry, the circumstances – which included Peter's morally bankrupt Uncle Den, said Uncle's wastrel friend and the young gun-toting woman who was travelling with them. (Sweden guessed correctly that Latvia would be armed – she was no pure little flower, he thought.)

Russia was alarmed at this, "You cannot get the police involved in looking for my little Latvia! She would not harm a hair on anyone's head. She is a sweet, innocent, pure..." Russia ran out of adjectives.

* * *

><p>Tallinn, Estonia<p>

'Sweet, innocent, pure' little Latvia was waving the morally bankrupt Uncle Den and the Awesome One into a motel room.

"Get in there," she said, waving her gun at them.

"Ooooh we're sharing with dude chick. Bagsy I share with her!"

"No way, man, I'm sharing."

"No-one is sharing with me. You are sharing with each other and touch me and I won't hesitate to shoot you," Latvia told them and then added, "In the balls."

Later...

"I love television..." Denmark said dreamily, watching Scooby Doo with a mesmerized expression on his face. He was laid, spread-eagled on one of the beds, chugging beer, his Viking helmet adorning his head, his axe at his side.

"I know, right?" Prussia answered.

"God, man, what the hell did we do before TV?" Denmark asked, turning to look at his friend.

"Well, there was that one time when we [censored]."

"Oh yeah, and then France walked in on us and said '[censored]'!"

"Yeah, and then you asked _Sweden _if he wanted to do [censored] and he said no."

"Yep, and then Switzerland and Austria came in so we asked them to join in and Switzerland left, but Austria took his pants off and [censored]."

"And then Sweden said no – again – and left."

"And then Ivan comes in and [censored] and then..."

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANY MORE!" Latvia shouted from the opposite bed, flicking through a pregnancy magazine. Both men started snickering.

"You like Ivan, don't you, little Latvia~" Denmark sniggered. Latvia threw a pillow at him.

Some time later – Latvia was still perusing her 'Baby' magazine and ruminating on the pictures of chubby children and pregnancy bumps. The 'morons' as she'd come to collectively term 'Den' and 'Pru' had both been in the bathroom some time and she was starting to wonder. Plus she'd finally plucked up enough courage to actually carry out one of the pregnancy tests. Then, she heard the following emanating from said bathroom:

"Be gentle, Gilbert, you're going to break it!"

"No I'm not, I know what I'm doing!"

"I don't think you do..."

"What are you implying?"

"I'm implying that you've got your finger stuck."

"You can shut your mouth. It's your fault we're in this situation. If you hadn't gone and got drunk..."

"Hey, I could drink you under the table any day!"

"Whatever. Hey, I don't think this is supposed to go in there..."

"Don't you know anything, man? Where else is it gonna go?"

Latvia couldn't take anymore. She finally burst in through the door, only to find Prussia and Denmark with a dismantled bath, looking highly confused (Gilbert and Mathias were confused, that is, not the bath). Prussia had his finger stuck in a pipe, and Denmark was attempting to put one of the taps back in.

"I was picturing something entirely different..." the Baltic said.

"You sound disappointed." Gilbert noted.

"I am! I was hoping to get more material for my latest book!" Latvia then realised what she'd said, and clamped her hand over her mouth. "I mean... um..."

"You were going to write a gay sex scene?" Denmark said incredulously.

"...Maybe? I'm not sure yet." Latvia said sheepishly, going a very strange shade of pink. "My publisher said it'd appeal to a large market, and that I should try something different from the normal stuff, but I don't know."

"This is pure gold." Prussia decided. "Just wait until France and Spain hear about this, not to mention Alfred..."

"Don't. Even. Think. About. Telling. Them." Latvia said dangerously. "Or I will get Ivan to do unpleasant things to you with his pipe. Now get out while I pee on this stick," she said holding up the pregnancy test.

Both men looked in horror at her, "Ugh! Dude chick is weird!" Prussia said.

She finally emerged from the bathroom, her eyes swollen from crying, holding the white stick gingerly and then sat down dejectedly on the nearest bed.

"Hey! I'm trying to watch Scooby Doo here!" Den yelled.

Latvia waved the stick at them, "I'm... I'm... pregnant," she told them.

Denmark leaned in and saw the pink line and said, his IQ dropping below room temperature, "Get in! Its going to be a girl! I'm an auntie!"

"What?"

"It's a girl, the line's pink."

Latvia punched him very hard and the Dane fell off the bed.

"It's a bloody Russian is what it is," Gilbert said (as if the test revealed the nationality of the child...)

He then received a punch as well.

She then got up and, her mind still in overdrive, decided she had better ring Russia and tell him the news... her heart slamming so hard in her chest she felt sick.

* * *

><p>In the scruffy lobby of the motel, Latvia picked up the phone and put a call through to Leningrad.<p>

"Privet?" she said tentatively, expecting Toris to answer. It wasn't.

"Privet?" came a lispy girlish voice.

"Who's this?"

"Miss Ivanova."

"Who?"

"I'm Mrs Russia's secretary."

"Who?"

"Mrs Russia."

Latvia slammed the phone down. 'He'd replaced her! He'd got himself a new woman, obviously – why else would there be a Mrs Russia? And who was this Miss Ivanova? His secret daughter? He had a family? What? The bastard, the big commie bastard,' she thought.

She staggered back to the room, tears flooding her eyes. What did it matter that she was pregnant? He obviously would not care. Bloody hell! She'd only been gone twenty-four hours!

She flung herself onto the bed and sobbed.

Denmark tore himself away from 'Children's Hour' and stared, whilst Gilbert shook his head solemnly. Finally, the two men climbed onto her bed, exchanged looks and enfolded her in their arms.

She sobbed, first on Gilbert's shoulder and then on Den's.

"I don't care, it was me who ran away... who cares if he's got someone else...?" She said.

"Wooooo," Gilbert pulled back, "Wait a minute, just back up a bit there, chick, someone else? Big fat commie bastard has someone else?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

"Russia couldn't get a girl if his life depended on it."

"Or if he were the last man on earth," Den added.

"Yeah, dude's best friend is his right hand."

Latvia ignored all this.

"We could help. I'll be Dude Dad Den."

"And I'll be Dude Dad Gil and the kid can be mini dude."

"We'll call it Dengil!"

"No way, Gilden!"

Latvia looked from one to the other and was thankful that neither was responsible for her current predicament. However, they were doing a good job at cheering her up.

"You don't need that commie moron," Gil concluded, "He'll only sell the kid or put it down and forget where it he put it." Then Gilbert did a (Latvia had to admit) funny impersonation of Russia's spaciest expression, with a towel around his neck (presumably in lieu of a scarf), looking for a lost child under the bed.

"If it's not vodka, big dude ain't interested," Den also concluded and then proceeded to glug another beer, "Woohoo, look they found the monster!" he shouted, pointing at the screen.

"Hey, who touched my butt?" Latvia said.

The two men pointed at each other and then Denmark said, "I thought it was his."

* * *

><p>Vienna, Austria - Late evening on the building site at Austria's mansion<p>

The large builders' foreman by the name of Gustav stood outside the caravan, Austria and Hungary's temporary abode and was about to knock and tell his boss (Hungary, not Austria or 'Woderwick' as the builders named him) that they were done for the day. He hesitated and listened to the following conversation that emanated from inside:

"What's this foreign muck?"

"It's goulash and it's not muck. How dare you, you English prick? Your food tastes like feet."

"Honhonhon, I agree with you, Miss Hungary."

"You can shut up as well, frogface."

"Can we just get on with the meeting, nein?"

"Meeting nine? What's he mean, Arty?"

"Bloody Kraut means the meeting. Are you surrendering?"

"I am not a Kraut, I am Austrian and proud of it!"

"That bloody Kraut boss of yours will be surrendering soon as well."

"He was an Austrian! He was not German."

"Of course we all know that bloody Adolf is an Austrian and he's only got one ball!"

"I will always feel shame at that."

"Honhonhon what? That Herr Hitler only had one ball?"

"Nein."

"What, nine balls?"

"Nein, that Hitler was an Austrian."

(singing to the tune of Colonel Bogey March) "Hitler has only got one ball, Goring has two but very small, Himmler is somewhat similar, But poor Goebbels has none at all."

"Honhonhon it is tres amusant, non?"

"Great stuff, Dude Arty!"

"I know, we'll show those damn Jerries and when I find out who got Miss Belarus preggers here, I'm going to kick his arse as well... unless Ivan gets here first and then..."

"Oh Arthur..."

Gustav leapt back from the door as a platinum blond-haired woman, wielding a large kitchen knife came hurtling out.

"My Arthur has turned into an uncouth lout!" she shouted to no-one in particular (her mannerisms and mode of speech were turning increasingly English). Hungary came after her.

"Natalya, he doesn't know what he's saying."

"I hate him! He denied ever having been with me! He said he can't possibly be the father!"

"He's just stuck in 1945," Hungary put her arms around Belarus, "He'll come back to you."

"Erm, Miss Héderváry?"

"Yes, Gustav sweetie?"

The large builder flushed red, "We're off now. The swimming pool's just about finished. We can put water in it tomorrow."

"Swimming pool?" Austria stuck his head out of one of the caravan windows, "Swimming pool? Are you having a laugh? What about mein house? Ja? I have nowhere to live..."

Hungary waved 'Gustav' away, "Bye then, see you tomorrow." She turned to Austria, "Shut up, Roddy, we're talking girly problems."

'Roddy' stuck his head back in and wished he hadn't, as the following conversation regarding sleeping arrangements began.

"So who's sleeping where?"

"There's only one bedroom."

"Honhonhon, a foursome! Four nubile young men in one bed... it is a dream come true! I have longed for this..."

"You bloody pervert!"

"I'm not sharing with him!"

"No way, Dude."

"Natalya and I will take the bed," Hungary shouted, "You morons can sleep on the lilo in the lounge."

"Honhonhon that will be wonderful... zis air mattress has plenty of 'give' non?"

"Nein, I will sleep on the couch."

"Dudes, I am totally sharing with Arthur... Arthur don't make me share with Francy, he has wandering hands... I remember one world meeting in Paris and I woke up and his hands were..."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Alfred, man up."

"Oh oui, be a man, Alfred. Be a man with me. I will show you."

"I'm going to get my camera!" Hungary shouted from outside, "Natalya, don't let them start without me."

"I've got Mr Pillow..."

"I've got my bloody gun and if you try to get your hands in my trousers again, you French pervert..."

"And I have my riding crop..."

"Oh mon dieu! No-one wants my love!"

"No we bloody well do not."

As it happened, after much arguing, drinking of wine, cheap Austrian beer and a 'value' bottle of rum, the six Nations settled down, deciding to have their conference in the morning.

Alfred and Arthur shared a sagging air mattress – Arthur with a gun under his pillow, Alfred with his arms wrapped around a pillow. Austria slept on a couch which was rather too small even for him, his feet hanging off the end, this, he thought was even worse than that awful tiny bed and he didn't even have Elizaveta to cuddle.

The two women shared the bed – chatting until the early hours about the stupidity of their respective lovers. France, however, was consigned to the tiny bathroom – the shower cubicle to be precise, the shower-head dripping on him all night. He was not totally unhappy though, as he knew sooner or later someone would come in to relieve themselves and then, 'Zay will be mine, oh yes...' he thought, 'Well, maybe not Miss Bela... or Miss Hungary... non...' – France wanted to retain his testicles.

"We'll save the world in the morning!" the Hero had said, "I mean how hard can it be? This painting thingy, we'll just get it back," Alfred continued, actually disappointed that there would be no gun fights, car chases or other exciting action (little did he know). "Now, I'm beat and I've got jetlag, so shuffle up, Arty and don't hog all the sleeping bag."

* * *

><p>Switzerland's House, Berne<p>

"Lily! Are you coming down? I've made hot chocolate!" Switzerland shouted up the stairs to his 'little sister'. He hoped that by making her hot chocolate – from quality chocolate as well – that this could go some way towards easing the tension in the house. He knew she was still angry with him for the way he dealt with Iceland. But that young Viking was not suitable for his sweet, innocent little Lily. After all he was a Viking, and with a brother like Norway, who hung around with that undesirable Denmark, who was a member of this Awesome Trio with Prussia...

"Coming, brother dear." Lily's cheery little voice came wafting down to him.

Vash sat down happily, everything was going to be alright.

Lily entered the room just as Vash was taking a sip of his hot beverage and he almost swallowed his spoon at the sight that greeted him.

"W...W...W...What the ..." words failed him. For once, the irascible Swissman was struggling to enunciate his emotions.

His 'sweet, innocent' little sister stood in the doorway, her black leather miniskirt barely reaching to the top of her thighs - thighs that were encased in ripped black fishnet stockings. At the end of these legs were black, impossibly high heeled boots (she'd borrowed these from Belgium). She wore a black ripped t-shirt with the moniker 'Yes They're Real', which was actually rather silly as Lily had to wear a push-up Wonder-bra to get any cleavage at all. The pinnacle of this make-over though was her hair which she'd dyed a virulent pink and was now stuck up at right-angles. She also had several ear piercings in one ear.

"Lily! What have you done to yourself?" Vash finally got out, his lap covered in hot chocolate, his mouth still open in complete astonishment.

"Do you like it big brother?" Lily tottered into the room and did a quick twirl and almost fell over.

"No, I absolutely do not!" Switzerland all but yelled.

Lily pouted, with bright red lips. Her heavily charcoaled eyes widened and then she blurted out, "Well, I like it!"

"I suppose that Iceland..."

"No, he hates it," she said. In fact she wasn't lying. Iceland had been positively frightened when he'd seen the results of her four hours in the bathroom. This wasn't the sweet beautiful Lily he'd married. "I'm done with that loser anyway," she said.

Vash wasn't sure now what he thought of this, he should be relieved but...

"I've got myself a new man," Lily continued and her voice dropped dramatically, "A real man," she added dangerously, "He wasn't interested in me when I was just a silly little girl, but now I'm a woman..." she imbued the word 'woman' with a suggestive quality.

Vash was horrified to the say the least and he clutched his chair arms, "W...W...What man?" he said.

Lily had to bite her lip from smiling, 'got him hook, line and sinker,' she thought, "Not just a man, big brother," she said.

"A Nation?" Vash asked, he was already planning to get his rifle and shoot whoever was leading his little innocent sister into a life of sin.

Lily laughed, "Oh yes..." she said and then she twirled away, "Nighty night, big brother. I have to have lots of beauty sleep before I meet my lover..." she paid great emphasis on the word 'lover' and took herself off up the stairs, pausing half way up to take off her boots – they were killing her feet.

She finally flung herself into her room, forgetting to sing 'Edelweiss' for her husband as the password and collapsed on the bed laughing.

Downstairs, Vash was tearing around the house, looking for his rifle and ammunition and planning on shooting this 'lover' to Kingdom come.

* * *

><p>Viking Ferry Line Helsinki to Tallinn<p>

Estonia, holding Russia's coat, was sat in the bar swigging vodka. He was exhausted. They'd finally managed to 'borrow' Sweden's Volvo and catch the last ferry to Tallinn, Russia driving, unfortunately. Estonia still felt shaken from the car crash, his head ached, his whole body ached and all he wanted was to be back in Leningrad with Katya and his tax return.

Russia was stood on the deck and leaning over the railings. He held in one hand a piece of paper and a pen in the other as he tried to write down his thoughts and emotions for Latvia. He thought that perhaps a letter to her might explain what he felt for her. He was never very good at communication at the best of times and love especially confused and befuddled him.

"Dear Aija," he wrote... and then scrubbed this out and wrote "My dear beloved" and then scrubbed this out and wrote, "My little Latvia" and then decided this sounded too formal. He got no further. He gazed off into the darkness of the Baltic Sea.

Normally his feelings for others were bewildering at the best of times. He feared but loved his little sister, was irritated and occasionally intimidated by his older sister (although he loved her dearly). America annoyed him but he also respected the younger Nation for his strength and optimism (which also irritated him), but he was also grateful for the way in which America had taken care of Alaska.

He had a grudging respect for England – which had multiplied by one hundred after Arthur had taken on Belarus. Austria, Germany, France and Prussia he could happily punch until the sun went down.

He was awkward and gauche around Lily, Belgium, Hungary and the other female Nations (particularly Hungary who frequently hit him with her frying pan). China was his one time best friend and... Russia tried not to think about that. Denmark and Spain were too spacey to punch most of the time and he was wary of Sweden. And he felt possessive and protective of Estonia and Lithuania, this would be extended to Finland if it weren't for Sweden. Poland annoyed the hell out of him but he had a grudging respect for the Pole.

But his feelings for Latvia were, when he really thought about it, clear and sharp. He loved her, adored her and would willingly go to hell and back for her, crawl over broken glass for her, even swim the frozen waters of the Baltic Sea for her.

And he was about to do just that, but not willingly, as a pair of hands gave him an almighty shove and he plummeted down into the inky blackness and the icy waters below.

**Author's Notes:**

**The song "Hitler has only got one ball" is quite a famous tune sung by British soldiers for propaganda purposes during WWII. There were many variants of it.**

**Lilo – an air mattress/air bed**

**This would have been up sooner but fanfiction was messing me about and wouldn't let me log on... (probably cos its got a stupidity monitor)**

**Next Chapter: Lucinda Lovelace's first public appearance, Mrs Russia takes charge, Sealand's big adventure, more Den-Pru and how do you get into the Awesome Trio?**


	16. Hold Me In Your Arms

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Art and Soul, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat and all my anonymous readers. If I've missed anyone, please PM me and tell me off.**

**Warnings: sexual innuendo (as always – maybe I should warn you when there isn't any), random car chase, Pru-Den**

Chapter 15 – Hold Me In Your Arms

Wednesday AM

Various people woke up in the arms of people they did not expect to wake up with.

Vienna, Austria

Alfred and Arthur (with Mr Pillow in the middle) were spooning. "Oooh Belgium... you're so curvy..."

"Bloody hell, America! Get your hands off me!"

"Honhonhon, wait for me... and I will join you..."

* * *

><p>Tallinn, Estonia<p>

Denmark and Prussia were also cuddling... Prussia had his arms wrapped around the Dane and was snuffling the Dane's crazy blond hair.

"Hmmmmm, that feels nice... just kiss me there... oooh Iike that... just hand me that lube," Den murmured.

"Was?" Prussia exclaimed.

"Hvad?"

"Oooh, you two are so sweet together... Den and Pru... made for each other... let me get my camera," Latvia said.

"Aaaargh! I hope that's not your hand..."

"Kesese! It was my five metres of awesomeness..."

"Oh no! You moved... that would have been brilliant. Hungary would have paid loads for that picture. You both looked so cute."

"I don't sleep with men."

"Nein, neither do I."

"So, Den, what were you doing with Francis in Vienna?"

* * *

><p>Another couple who had been sleeping rather too closely was Russia and Estonia.<p>

"Nnnnggg... oh Aija... just move back a bit."

"Aaarrrrrrgggghhhh!" and then "Sir!"

Sharing a bed with Russia was never on a 'list of 100 things to do before I die' for Estonia, but this is precisely what he found himself doing. They'd had to find the nearest motel the previous night as Russia had emerged from the freezing waters of the Baltic Sea, shivering, sodden wet (of course) and close to getting hypothermia. Estonia, who had wondered where on earth his boss had disappeared to, had just waited at the harbour in Sweden's stolen/borrowed Volvo. Even he'd been shocked by Russia's appearance. Unfortunately the room they'd booked into had only one bed and neither wanted to sleep in the bath. Russia had assured Estonia that he wouldn't touch him and then... Estonia woke up with the biggest shock of his long life.

What Estonia, Russia and also Lativa, Prussia and Denmark didn't know was that by pure coincidence on the part of the author, they were all staying at the same motel...

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

"Your meeting is in about 30 minutes, Mrs Russia," Miss Ivanova told Katya, holding her briefcase out to her.

Katya looked her 'secretary' up and down – secretary being a very loose term for the girl. So far the only useful thing the girl had done was answer the telephone and made a lovely sunflower arrangement on Vanya's desk, she was also good at manicures and Katya's nails hadn't looked so good since she'd lived with Poland. The girl couldn't type never mind use Estonia's computer, made awful coffee and had covered the desk and computer in promotional logo bugs which all had 'KGB' incongruously on the ribbons.

Half an hour later...

The dozen or so men sat around the highly polished table, some were in suits, some in KGB or Red Army uniform, all were remarkably relaxed. There was a holiday atmosphere, one was sat reading Pravda, two were chatting about their respective wives and children, another was eating the biscuits from the centre of the table, two others were dozing. This was wonderful they'd all agreed, their Nation, the feared, intimidating General Ivan Braginski was 'taking time out' and his sister – they'd all found this funny – had taken temporary control.

The door was flung open and Katya strode in – resplendent in Red Army Major uniform, her WWI and WWII medals clinking.

"Right, gentlemen, let's get started shall we?" she said.

They all glanced at one another, this was going to be a walk in the park.

The author is unsure which park they were thinking of, but it was certainly no 'walk'.

Although Katya was outranked officially by almost everyone present, she began issuing orders.

"You!"

"Me?" a KGB General looked up confused, he was unused to anyone pointing at him, not unless they wanted a holiday in Siberia.

"Yes, you. Do that top button up."

The General was about to argue, but saw the look in her eyes. If Braginski was intimidating, Miss Braginskaya was even more so.

"You! Do that tie up. Get your feet off the table. What a disgrace! I've never seen such a bunch of wastrels, scruffy, slack-jawed individuals."

The men – all representing the top echelons of the Government, the security services and the armed forces – looked around at each other sheepishly.

"And you!" Katya pointed at a Red Army officer who was trying to hide under the table.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Go and get me a skinny latte and a chocolate donut."

"But I'm Marshall Pasternak!"

"I don't care if you're God, you can get me a coffee."

The Marshall – who was actually the Commanding Officer of six Red Army divisions and was used to be referred to as 'God' by his underlings – was about to slouch out but was stopped by Ukraine, "Here's 20 rubles, you can keep the change and get yourself some sweets."

* * *

><p>In a lay-by outside Tallinn, Estonia, in a VW campervan with a psychedelic paint job (the type of paint job that Prussia wished he had on his awesome van, but didn't), were two men of East European descent, two Swedish girls and one Micro-nation.<p>

"Hey this is great!" Peter (for it was he) yelled. "This is way better than school!"

"More sausages, Peter?"

"Okay."

"So, you want to come with us? Are you sure? It's tough work and we don't earn much."

"Oh yes please. Those jerks don't care about me."

"Your home life sounds awful..." one of the girls said, stroking his hair, "I don't know why you didn't run away before."

"It was awful..." Peter said in between bites, "They used to make me work, make me chop wood and my Uncle Den used to throw things at me."

"This Uncle Den person sounds like a horrid person."

"He was a bully."

"Well, I suppose you can stay with us for a while. But you'll have to pay your way." One of of the Ukrainians said.

Peter had gathered that his name was 'Viktor'. Viktor was nice, but very tall, very blond and had very dark blue eyes. He reminded Peter of Russia rather a lot and he felt that he'd met him somewhere before.

"What will I have to do?"

"Don't worry, in that school uniform you won't have to do very much... leave it to us," Viktor said n a rather obscure but quite menacing way. He then turned to his friends, "We can make lots of money out of him. We'll head for one of the big cities like Warsaw – that's where all the businessmen and women are..."

Peter's eyes widened and he looked around at his companions. So far they'd been very nice since he'd accidentally and sleepily got into their camper van. The girls were dressed very skimpily in short miniskirts, whilst the two men were dressed as if they belonged in the 1960s – flares, Afghan coats and huge felt hats. He still didn't know what they did for a living – their responses being very vague. "Entertainment," was all Viktor had told him.

* * *

><p>Riga, Latvia<p>

Poland was having make-up administered to his already gorgeous (his words) made-up visage. "Oh sweetie, I can do my own make-up," he said and crossed his fishnet stocking-clad legs demurely.

The make-up girl just smiled, "You have lovely bone structure, Miss Lovelace."

"I know honey, it's good genes," Poland battered his eyelashes at the girl. He'd shaved just that morning so that the foundation should just slide on.

"I've read all your books... they're so dreamy. I adored Alexander in Symphony of Love," the girl said.

'Lucinda Lovelace' struggled to think which book this was and what the plot was about... "Erm yes..."

"Can I have your autograph?"

"Of course, sweetie!" Lucinda/Poland said, utterly thrilled. No-one had ever asked for his autograph before – although he couldn't think why not.

"Oh thank you, and good luck in your interview."

"Oh, I don't need luck!"

Lithuania, who had been sat watching all this from a chair in the corner, shuddered. How on earth did Poland think he was going to get away with this? He had to admit he had chutzpah and sheer cheek but... this was going too far even for Poland, to impersonate a best-selling authoress (admittedly one who was publicity-shy and no-one had ever seen) live on day-time television.

"So, Miss Lovelace, we all absolutely adore your novels..."

"Oh thank you..."

"Can you tell us what your latest novel – Love and Bullets is about?"

"Well it's about to be published and it's a love story set in the War – the second world war..."

"Oh and who is the hero this time?" the interviewer said, a little sarcastically, Toris thought, "Alexander, Brett or some other musical aristocrat?"

The sarcasm was lost on 'Lucinda' though, "Oh no, he's called Ivan and he's a Red Army officer."

Toris shuddered and just hoped to any God of any religion who might be bored enough to be watching over them, that neither Latvia nor Russia was viewing this. Unfortunately, he was not that lucky...

* * *

><p>Tallinn, Estonia<p>

Latvia watched open-mouthed at the television – 'Good Morning Baltics'. She was sat in bed, drinking tea – which tasted metallic to her (nothing to do with the awfulness of the tea and its maker, Prussia, but more to do with pregnancy hormones) and ignoring the idiocy of her fellow occupants.

"That's Poland!" Denmark said, rather obviously.

"Hey, he looks good in a skirt!" Prussia said and then added, "Did I just say that out loud?"

Just down the corridor...

"That's Poland!" Russia exclaimed at the television, his mouth agape, sitting on the bed, pulling on his boots – which were still soaking and smelling of seaweed. In fact Russia smelt of seaweed, despite having had a shower.

Estonia blinked in astonishment. The poor Estonian was not used to seeing a fully-made up transvestite Polish man first thing in the morning in full Technicolor, he'd had enough surprises that morning to last him a lifetime.

* * *

><p>Riga, Latvia<p>

"...And you've sold over 2 million copies of your first four novels, what makes you think this will sell as well?"

"Because it's even more better."

Toris winced at the awful English.

Tallinn, Estonia

Estonia also winced. "Because it's better written..." he corrected and then said wonderingly, "Two million copies? After tax that could mean an income of ..."

"Poland's sold two million what?" Russia asked, completely oblivious.

"Lipsticks," Estonia answered for him. (Which would presumably mean that Poland was the most successful Avon Lady ever.)

Latvia held her head in her hands, her reputation for what it was worth, was shattered.

"Kesese, this is just classic."

"I know – so it was really Poland who wrote those shit books?"

"Shit books? Shit books?" Latvia looked at the Dane with murderous eyes.

"I know. I see you agree, right? I mean come on..."

"Kesese, and the gay hero was based on Woderwick..." Prussia finished for him. It is unknown why he suddenly began calling Austria the same bizarre nickname as the builders, perhaps there was a psychic connection, or there were other more devilish forces at work.

"So you read them, then?" Latvia asked.

"Well... no... I only heard what France said."

"Hmmm. Anyway the hero of my latest book is based on..."

But 'Lucinda Lovelace' aka Poland told them via Denmark's 'magic box', "...A tall, blond Red Army officer called Ivan."

Prussia almost split his sides laughing, "Kesesesesese... fat commie bastard in a romance novel," and then proceeded to fall off the bed and was wheezing on the floor, tears rolling down his cheeks.

In Russia and Esty's room, Russia was in the bathroom and thankfully, did not hear this part of the interview. (It's doubtful whether Russia had made the connection that Poland was being Lucinda Lovelace.) However, 'Esty' did and just gaped at the screen.

* * *

><p>Back in Riga, Latvia<p>

The interviewer turned to the camera and said, "And that's all we have time for today... I want to say thank you to Lucinda Lovelace for coming in this morning..."

"Yo, no probs," Pol said.

"...And Miss Lovelace's gorgeous boyfriend..." here, the camera panned to Lithuania, sat in the wings looking momentarily confused and bedazzled.

In Tallinn, this caused a variety of responses.

"Hahaha! Look at Toris' face!" Den shouted, bouncing up and down on the bed, "I'd be bloody embarrassed as well, going out with a tranny!"

"Kesese!" Prussia was still trying to recover from the idea of Russia being the romantic hero in a novel.

Latvia just stared at the screen in horror.

Russia ran out of the bathroom when he heard the name 'Lucinda Lovelace', "Aija is on telly? Boyfriend? Do they mean me?" he stopped dead when he saw Toris' embarrassed and crimson-red face on the screen. "Toris! She ran away with Toris!" and then his huge army boot met the television screen with unfortunate consequences.

Estonia sighed, "Sir... Sir... Sir...I don't think... it wasn't..."

* * *

><p>Riga, Latvia<p>

"Do they mean me?" Toris asked 'Lucinda' as the soundman took the microphone from her/him.

"Of course they mean you... silly. You are gorgeous. But I wear a skirt better..." 'Lucinda' said, "Right, come on Liet, like, we're off to do a photo-shoot." Toris sighed, and played the dutiful boyfriend by carrying 'Lucinda/Pol's' handbag.

* * *

><p>Tallinn, Estonia<p>

"Sir, it was Pol and Lithuania... not Aija... I mean Latvia..." Estonia tried to explain to Russia before he smashed up the motel bedroom.

"She's run away with Poland as well?"

"Nooo," oh God how hard can this be? "She's not with them, nobody's with them."

"But they said Lucinda Lovelace's gorgeous boyfriend."

"Yes, that was Toris."

"So it was Toris... he will not be gorgeous when I get my hands on him."

"No, Poland is Lucinda Lovelace..."

"No it is Aija... she wrote that book... you mean it was Poland all the time?" Russia's brain went into over-drive, it was little Latvia he had slept with in Vienna, he knew that much and she had written that very steamy sex scene and then he blushed, remembering _their _very steamy sex scene.

It was another thirty minutes before Estonia finally hammered the facts through to Russia's brain and then the young Baltic told him, "Right, I'm going to go ring the credit card company, see if she's used the card since yesterday and find out where she is."

Standing in the musty lobby of the motel and using the exact phone that Latvia had used the night before, Estonia gave 'his' details to the credit card company and waited patiently. Then his mouth opened in amazement when he heard the young woman on the other end of the line tell him that the last time it was used was... at the motel he was now stood in. He slowly put the phone down and looked around... surely not? He and Russia had paid in cash last night so...

"Esty?" Denmark said softly, a little smile appearing on his face at the thought of the Baltic nation. "My Esty?" Denmark was at the other side of the musty, grubby motel lobby when he saw 'his' Baltic stood with a gormless expression on his face (Estonia – not Denmark, although the latter was gormless).

"Estoniaaaaaaaaa!" Denmark shouted, he promptly threw himself across the room and hugged the Baltic as if he had not seen him in several years "My little Baltic!"

Estonia winced and struggled in Denmark's arms, when oh when would he ever get away from being called someone's little Baltic?

Their reunion was short-lived, however, as Prussia, a look of pure horror on his face, grabbed Denmark and practically kicked the tall Dane out into the car park. Latvia was already climbing into the van, but was hauled back out, Prussia, his mind working on overdrive, opened the rear door for her and told her to get in.

"No way, I'm not sitting in the back..." she started to say.

Prussia was undeterred. He'd realised that if 'Esty' was around then so was Russia. If Latvia and Russia saw each other his kidnapping scheme would be over – Latvia would, no doubt in her highly volatile pregnant state run back to him and Russia would no doubt tear the place apart to get to her. In the back of the van she wouldn't be able to see him, or him her.

"It'll be more comfy for you..."

Denmark was about to protest as well, "But Estonia..."

"Shut up, Dude Den..." Prussia indicated the back of the van as they got in, and then whispered to Den, "Russia's after dude chick."

"I don't like sitting in the back here. It's not comfy at all..." Latvia was trying to get her gun out, but the van careered off, just as Esty and Russia ran out onto the car park.

"Was Latvia with them?" Russia asked the Baltic.

"I don't know, Sir, but Gilbert's driving that crappy white van."

(Gilbert would have been horrified at these words.)

"Get in. I'll drive..." Russia said with a horrid determined look on his face.

Before Esty had even got his seatbelt fastened and the door shut, Russia slammed his foot on the accelerator and they skidded out of the car park. Watching them, with interest and rather a lot of disgust was Romano. The Italian adjusted his moustache, sucked on his fortieth cigarette and followed at a safe distance.

"Sir? You said you thought you felt a hand push you in last night?"

"Da?" Russia said, keeping Prussia's white van in sight.

"Well, maybe someone is trying to kill you?" Estonia said, his eye on the rear view mirror, his eyes resting on a familiar looking man in a bad disguise following them in an Avis hire car.

"Me? Why me?" Russia said, genuinely perplexed. Why on earth would anyone want to assassinate him?

Estonia could think of lots of reasons why Russia would be on the 'Person Most Likely To Be Assassinated' List. But 'Esty' decided not to expand on his theory as Russia flung the car through a red light after Prussia, a horrid gleam in his eyes like a hunter tracking his prey.

Inside the van, Latvia was being flung about in the back and felt as if she were on a funfair ride, or alternatively in a washing machine on the spin cycle.

Her stomach, delicate anyway, was rolling again.

"Must you drive like you're in a car chase?" she asked, oblivious that in fact, they were.

"Ja!" Prussia answered. He thought that he was home and dry and was horrified when he looked in the mirror and saw Russia, resembling a demon from hell, gaining on them. Also, to Prussia's utter shame, in Sweden's totally un-awesome Volvo of all things.

"So how exactly do you get in the awesome trio? Do you have to pass a test or something?" Latvia asked, trying to keep a conversation going before she threw up.

Prussia growled at the mirror and to his horror he saw Russia growl back through his windscreen, the Volvo now edging up just a car behind them.

Den turned in his seat to talk to Latvia, "You have to be awesome!"

"Well, that doesn't tell me much..." Latvia said and then added, "Hey! Gilbert! Slow down!" as she was flung across the van. She gripped the bench running along one side of the back and tried to steady herself.

"My hair and his awesomeness..." Den said, indicating Gilbert.

"What about America? Isn't he in this trio thingy?"

"He had to have a note from Arthur to say he could join."

"Yeah and England turned up for the first meeting..." Gil added and then stuck his tongue out in the side mirror at Russia as the Volvo pulled up alongside him at a pedestrian crossing.

The two rivals revved their engines and glared daggers at each other.

"So what exactly do you do in this Awesome Trio thingy?"

"Well..." Den thought very hard, his face scrunched up, "My hair... erm... Gil drinks... and America yells a lot."

"And..." Latvia tried to help him.

"And sometimes Sweden lets me stay up late..."

"Woooo rock and roll..." Latvia was unimpressed.

"And we prank call Rod... and fat commie..."

Latvia shook her head, "Is that all? We do more than that - maybe Toris, Eduard and I should be the Awesome Trio... we're wilder than you and Vanya certainly is."

Prussia was so horrified at this, he stalled the engine as the lights turned green and Russia, his huge foot already on the gas, took off as if he were in the Grand Prix.

Prussia was about to storm after him and then remembered in time, that it was Russia who was supposed to be chasing _him. _So he stopped dead, watched with interest as a Police car, sirens blazing went screeching after Russia's car and did a swift U-turn and put his foot down to head back the way they had come.

"Kesese, fat commie bastard can't catch me..." he said. It was bringing back memories of his escape to the West, except then he'd been on an awesome motorbike.

"What did you say?" Latvia said.

"Nothing."

"Den?" she said.

"Ja?"

"Give me your hat."

"Why?"

"Because I need to puke in it."

Russia skidded to a stop when he realised Prussia wasn't behind him... bloody hell, where was that slippery bastard?

"Sir? I think the Police are after us..."

"I don't care," Russia said and threw the car into reverse gear and started reversing at top speed back down the carriageway.

Esty closed his eyes, "Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod," he chanted.

"I have to get Prussia. Latvia is in that van, I know it. And she needs me..." Russia said.

Latvia needed something. It might not be a big Russian, more likely a sick-bag as she vomited into Den's hat.

"My hat!"

"Why did you give it her, dude Den?" Prussia asked, one eye in the mirror.

"She asked and..." Den was about to say he felt sorry for the girl, when Prussia gave a yell and slammed the van into a handbrake turn.

The 'awesome' van did a 360 degree turn with Prussia yelling "Awesome!", Den yelling "Copenhagen!" and Latvia retching in the back.

Russia slammed Sweden's car around and back into first gear (Berwald was going to be horrified when he got his car back with a shattered gearbox, Esty thought) and drove _forward _for the first time in two miles.

"Sir, we have to stop!"

"I'm not stopping for the Police!" Russia answered.

The Estonian Police had stopped dead (along with a mesmerised Romano) at one end of the carriageway as the Volvo drove over the central reservation and headed towards to Prussia's now stationary van.

"If Latvia is in that van and we carry on chasing them, she could get hurt!" Esty said and then added in a whisper, "... and I want to live to see Katya..."

Russia slammed his foot on the brake at this and they stopped dead, cars weaved past them tentatively and then, to Russia's horror, Prussia put his foot on the gas, waved at him with his middle finger and drove off down a side street.

Russia was about to give chase, but Estonia put a hand on his arm, "Sir... think of Latvia," as the Estonian traffic police pulled up alongside him and indicated that he was to turn off the engine and step out of the car.

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

The meeting had gone on for a mind-numbingly awful three hours and Ukraine had shown no signs of let-up. The officials had been allowed out to go to the toilet an hour ago but that had been it. For three hours Ukraine had quizzed them on economic, political, military and foreign policies pertaining to the Soviet Union and if they didn't answer straight away they got told off and instructed to go and stand in a corner of the room. At first, various officials had tried to rebel and complained that they were being treated as if they were naughty school children. This short-lived rebellion was crushed by Katya's sheer indomitable, school-ma'am-ish persona.

"Right, you can all leave now, gentlemen," she'd finally said. "But I hope next time you will have done your homework and when I ask you a question you can give me the correct answer." She fixed one or two officials with a 'look'.

It was decided afterwards – various telephone calls going backwards and forwards between the powers-that-be that the sooner Ivan Braginski was back from his 'holiday' the better and the KGB were instructed to 'get their arses in gear and find their truanting Nation'.

**Author's Notes:**

**Was – what in German**

**Hvad – what in Danish**

**Promotional logo bugs were on everyone's desk in the 80s – I thought it would be hilarious if the KGB had some 'promotional gifts'**

**Chutzpah – a Hebrew word that means someone who has overstepped the boundaries**

**Good Morning Baltics – I made that up of course, I doubt there was a breakfast show called this in Soviet Union times.**

**Another long chapter – and I meant it to be a short one.**

**Next Chapter: A meeting of minds (but not all of them are sane), Russia makes his political allegiances clear, more Pru-Den-Lat**


	17. Unstoppable

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader who checks my stuff – she's very modest and has only just allowed me to put that) and all my anonymous readers. If I've missed anyone, please PM me and tell me off.**

**Warnings: Violence of the silly variety, France, Scotland, Hippy!Germany**

Chapter 16 - Unstoppable

Helsinki, Finland

Sweden and Finland has spent a sleepless night worrying over their little Peter.

"He could be anywhere. Poor child... Oh Ber, he's only a boy!"

"I know m'wife," Sweden answered, and poured another coffee.

The doorbell rang.

"That'll be him," Finland jumped up hopefully.

"...or the truancy officer," Sweden shuddered.

They both looked at each other in horror.

It was neither. Sweden opened the door to a tall, dark-haired woman with piercing blue eyes. She wore a business-like suit and had a no-nonsense look on her face. "Mr Sweden?" she asked.

Sweden stepped back. The woman was human and not a Nation, micronation, principality or capital city. So how did she know who he was? Only a few members of the Nations' secret services and officials knew their secret.

"Hmmm," Sweden hummed not knowing what to say.

"Major Svetlana Bollockoff, 2nd Directorate of the KGB," she held up her ID card.

Sweden took it from her.

"Is it that truancy officer?" Finland asked, his eyes had huge bags under them.

They'd been to the ferry and enquired about Peter and watched countless CCTV videos of ferry crossings. They watched with disgust as a tall, moronic-looking Dane had charged up and down the deck of the ferry with a rubber axe shouting about being the 'King of Northern Europe' and then watched with equal distaste as an equally un-evolved-looking specimen with silver hair and red eyes attempted to chat up a bored looking shop girl. But of Peter there was no sign.

"It's the KGB," Sweden told his 'wife'.

"Oh, phew."

Miss Bollockoff raised an eyebrow. It was an unusual response and not one she usually got when she knocked on people's doors.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"No," Sweden said.

That was an unusual response as well.

"You've lost your... erm... son," she said (she'd read the whole file on the Nations very quickly last night after being given her dubious assignment), "and we've lost... erm misplaced our Nation, perhaps we can help each other?"

"I don't help the KGB," Sweden said, his eyes narrowing. Let them get Russia back and good luck, he thought.

"Perhaps if you tell me where our Nation went, I can tell you where your son is?"

Sweden didn't like the way she said 'son'.

Finland was about to say something, but was stopped by his 'husband'.

"There is a difference. Our Peter is a small, innocent boy who'd never hurt a fly. Your Nation is a six foot psycho."

Bollockoff didn't argue with this.

"They went to Tallinn," Finland told her, "Now where's Peter? And don't say he's in Tallinn, we know where the ferry went but...?"

"They're heading for Warsaw," she told him.

"They? Who are they?" Finland said, appalled. "And how do you know that?"

"That's classified."

"Who's he with?"

"That's classified."

"How do we know you're telling us the truth? Why should we trust you?"

Bollockoff, who was already heading for her car, turned to look at them. Whatever anyone said about her, she was always direct. Ruthless, cold, utterly professional and at the top of her game – that's why she'd been picked for this assignment (and the fact that she was a woman, her bosses guessing that Russia may be more amenable to a woman). "You don't," she said simply and got in her car, started the engine and drove past the burnt out, wrecked remains of Russia's Volga and headed for the ferry on Russia's trail.

"We have to go after him." Finland was already pulling on his coat and packing a case with spare clothes for him and his husband.

* * *

><p>Tallinn Police Station<p>

Russia the Nation sat in the 'holding area' in plastic handcuffs, his huge frame filling the small plastic bucket chair. He had no idea where Estonia had disappeared to, the latter Nation saying simply that he would get him out of it. For some reason, it was just Russia who had been arrested.

The list of reasons had been quite impressive – careless driving, driving without due care and attention, dangerous driving (these were all the same, Russia thought and he was tempted to argue – he thought his driving was excellent), exceeding the speed limit, failing to comply with traffic light signals, failing to comply with a 'stop' sign, failing to comply with a traffic direction sign... the list was four pages long altogether.

Russia sighed, he'd been so close to rescuing his precious sunflower from the evil clutches of his arch-nemesis, Prussia, silly driving regulations were nothing. Here he was stuck in a police station, smelling of seaweed (he stuck his head under his shirt and sniffed tentatively) in silly flimsy little handcuffs.

Estonia, meanwhile, had signed up three police officers to a nice timeshare apartment in Gotland that hadn't been built yet. He returned to where Russia was sat – a horrid purple aura shimmering around the large Nation.

"I don't like these people," Russia grumbled, "They are keeping me from my Aija."

A large police sergeant approached and took hold of Russia's arm, "Right, time to take down your details," the man said.

No-one was exactly sure what happened next, Estonia certainly didn't as he spent much of the next twenty minutes with his hands over his eyes.

Russia snapped the handcuffs as if they were made of play-doh and then took the sergeant's head and slammed it into a wall, taking the plaster off.

One officer was stapled to his desk where he sat, whilst another was fatally injured with a broken bic biro.

Russia had decided he didn't want to be 'processed', 'have his details taken' or be 'booked'.

Russia, like an unstoppable force of nature, headed for the door – the police were nothing more than barriers to his rescuing of his beloved. Three policemen blocked his exit – all holding batons. Estonia closed his eyes. Russia turned to his 'Esty' and asked for his coat – this meant business.

The policemen all glanced at one another – they were armed with batons and in one case, a taser gun – they were all young and fit and were against just one guy – a big guy they all agreed, but to the ridiculously young and naive police officers, Russia looked old and distinctly out of shape.

Esty gingerly handed Russia his coat and the Arctic Nation fumbled in his pockets. The police watched with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, ignoring their superior's orders to 'grab him'. Russia couldn't find Mr Pipe but pulled out a knitting needle instead.

One of the officers laughed out loud, "Are you going to knit us a sweater?" he said laughing at Russia's spaciness.

Estonia winced. It was never ever a good idea to laugh at Russia's choice of weapons.

The police paid dearly. As one approached Russia, telling him that 'they wouldn't hurt him if he came quietly', said officer found a knitting needle embedded in his arm.

"I only knit scarves," Russia told him.

The man dropped to his knees, his horrified colleagues gasped and then attacked Russia – bravely, but ultimately foolishly. Russia did not like people in uniforms, be they Russian, Estonian and certainly not German. But as these men weren't German and were just 'kids', he decided to be fairly 'lenient'.

He face-palmed one and then spun around and smashed the other's head into the photocopier and shoved the lid down, breaking the machine and no doubt negating the warranty.

Several other policemen were now arriving. Russia reached into his coat and pulled out a ... sunflower. Much as Russia liked flowers, even he didn't think they made very good weapons and stood for a full minute as policemen dived on him whilst he tried to remember why it was in his pocket. Oh yes, he was going to give it to Latvia when he caught up with her.

By the time he found Mr Pipe, three policemen were clinging to his back and raining baton blows on his head and back. Russia threw one offending person off – the man's body slamming into a nearby desk reducing it to matchsticks. He then put his pipe to good use.

Estonia winced at the destruction wrought on his citizens. He interrupted Russia just as the large Nation was slamming someone's head into the water cooler and told him he was going to get the car and bring it to the entrance. Estonia was thankful that he was so inconspicuous as he crept out. Actually the only conspicuous person was the six foot two inch Russian who was waving a metal faucet pipe around.

Estonia crept outside, found Sweden's Volvo which had 'Impounded by Tallinn Police' stickers all over it, hot-wired it and drove it around to the front entrance.

Russia stood like a survivor of an apocalypse and surveyed his handiwork. Bodies lay in heaps around him, many barely conscious and most were groaning. The only unharmed people were two female receptionists – one who was hiding under a desk, another radioing for help frantically (saying something about a big, psychopathic maniac). Russia ended this conversation with a pipe in the offending radio which he then handed wordlessly to the stunned woman.

* * *

><p>Vienna, Austria<p>

Anyone walking into Austria's still ruined dining room could be forgiven for thinking that they'd gone back in time to some forty years before and they were in the middle of World War Two. The Allied Nations – America, England, France and Belarus (obviously standing in for her brother) sat at one side of the table, whilst facing them was the Axis Powers (in England's eyes) – Austria (still grumbling that the war was over), Hungary and two new arrivals – Italy and Germany.

"So where's that bloody Jap?" England demanded. "I suppose he won't bloody surrender will he? I suppose he's going to do all that kami kami chameleon nonsense... or whatever."

"Kamikaze..." America butted in. "Dude Kiku's not here. He's on holiday visiting Taiwan, it's a cultural visit and..." this was the wrong thing to say.

"I bet he bloody is! Bloody took them over didn't he? Where's your bloody sixth fleet then?" England all but shouted.

America frowned at this. "I'm not sure..."

Belarus put a hand on England's arm. She would be relieved when this 'Tommy' England lost his memory and they got 'normal' England back. Even Shakespeare England had been better – at least _he_ didn't go on about marching into Germany and kicking 'Nazi' arse.

Thankfully, Germany was not himself either. He was definitely not the Germany they all knew and... well not exactly loved (unless you count Feliciano) but respected. His clothing for a start was a complete change in direction. He wore a tie-dyed, loose cheesecloth shirt, pink linen pants, his hair uncut for over a month was straggly and actually curled down to his collar, having had no brylcreem on it for so long. He wore a CND peace sign around his neck and, for some reason, his fingernails were painted pink.

But what irritated Austria the most (Austria was in an extremely irritable mood today – having woken with a gun up his nostril telling him that he was a 'Kraut bastard' did not help, nor did Hungary throwing up the expensive bacon he'd cooked) was the flip-flops adorning Germany's large feet revealing equally pink, glittery nail polish on his toenails. He'd rather hoped that the appearance of Germany would bring order. He was wrong.

None of this seemed to bother the big German. He was dressed as the biggest hippy in the Western World and he didn't mind. This could be partly due to the strange cigarettes he was smoking – 'herbal' cigarettes that Italy had gotten from Netherlands - instead of his prescribed medication.

"Okay, dude Arthur, I'll take it from here," America said. "We need to sort out this... erm.. what was it again?"

"A painting by Da Vinci," Austria answered for him.

"A double agent?" England said.

France shook his head. He personally thought the whole thing hilarious. "Mon Angleterre... you are so funny."

"A dude?" Germany asked and waved two fingers in the peace sign.

Nobody thought they would ever live to see the day when Germany said the word 'dude' and did a peace sign.

America was, for once in his life, lost for words.

"Germany..." Italy hugged the German blissfully. Could life get any better?

America shook his head and finally found his voice, after shoving another bacon roll in his mouth, "Mmmffff, get that painting, dudes!"

"Stop eating with your bloody mouth full of food!" England shouted.

"It's not that easy. I do not know who has got the painting," Austria explained.

America sat down dejectedly, "Well, that's that then..." he said.

"You can't just give up!" Hungary said, "Where is your fighting spirit?"

"Don't say that..." Austria told her, and then added "...Too late." As England jumped up.

"Fighting spirit? I'll give you fighting spirit! We will fight them on the beaches, we will fight them in the air... we will never give up!"

Hungary stood up and wacked him around the head with her frying pan.

Belarus wailed, "Nooooo," and held the Englishman's prone body. She glared at the Hungarian, "You will pay for that," she told her and broke into a smatter of Belorussian and Russian.

"Oooh catfight!" France squealed happily, "Perhaps we could put them outside in the mud, non?"

France received a thump on the side of the head from Belarus and a scowl from Austria.

"Hell yeah!" America shouted and punched the air, but hurriedly sat down again when he saw the expressions on the two female Nations' faces.

"Peace, dude!" Germany said.

* * *

><p>When England had finally been brought around, the meeting continued.<p>

Everyone was relieved to find England was more... peaceable... in fact he seemed frankly benevolent and kind. He'd also changed out of his WWII khaki uniform and was wearing a long dark cloak with stars adorning it, a wizard hat and carried his wand.

"So, this painting... who's starring in it again?" America asked, as if the offending piece of art was a movie.

"Myself, Elizaveta, Antonio, Arthur, Feliciano and Romano of course," Austria started to say.

"Si, me and fratello posed for it," Feliciano smiled happily at the memory.

Austria shuddered. France snickered and was about to say something when he was silenced by a 'look' from Austria.

"... Gilbert, Ludwig..."

"Peace!" Germany said again.

"Ahem yes indeed, Sweden and Denmark... I think that's it oh and of course the bloody idiot who had it painted..." Austria finished and glared at France.

"It was beautiful, oh yes!"

"Why am I not in it?" America shouted, much disappointed. He was the Hero, a superpower, but at least, he thought, commie dude wasn't in it.

"You weren't around then," Austria explained.

"I did not know you then, I had not conquered you," France explained.

Austria all but exploded, as did Hungary and it was fortunate for France that England was now thinking he was a Welsh wizard.

"Right so where the hell is it?" America asked.

"Well if we knew that we wouldn't have called you lot in, would we?" Austria said, exasperated.

England waved his wand and a weird glow lit up the room, everyone jumped back nervously.

"Please don't tell me you're summoning fat commie bastard?" America said and received a glare from Belarus.

"Big brother is not fat, he is big-boned," she said.

However, Merlin England, the most powerful wizard ever known (apart from a certain wizard head-teacher living in an obscure Scottish castle) waved his wand and the glow shimmered above the table and started to take form. The assembled Nations watched breathlessly as the image started to appear.

"Woohoo, dude wizard has produced a home movie!" America yelled, jumping up and down in his seat.

He was shushed by Austria. Even Germany looked up from contemplating his next 'herbal' cigarette.

They watched with wide eyes as the ball-gowned form of Poland rifled through Austria's desk, took out several rolled-up canvases and shoved them in his suitcase.

"Well! That ... that... thief! He went through my drawers!" Austria said, utterly shocked as the image faded.

"Honhonhon, oh yes he did!" France giggled.

"Right, dudes, now we know where to go..." America concluded, rather prematurely everyone thought.

"...and that dress clashes with his shoes," Belarus announced.

Italy held up a hand, "Excuse me!" he said.

"What is it, Feliciano?" Austria asked irritably.

"I forget to give you this..." and he pushed a newspaper across the table at him.

Austria sighed and picked it up, "What is it, Feliciano? A new pasta recipe? Italy has beat Austria again in football? Honestly..." but then Austria's voice trailed off as he read the front page with growing horror.

"Lost Da Vinci Painting – The Nations – to fetch $50 million"

"Mein Gott!" Austria held his head in his hands.

"That means someone might buy it! So that's alright!" Feliciano said happily.

"Of course it's not alright!" Hungary interjected, "Anyone could get it... our secret will be out!"

"That's a helluva lot of money," America said, "That's more than my McDonalds expenses."

"I am sure Mr Austria has that much in his wallet, non?" France said.

"You can shut your mouth, you French idiot, if it wasn't for you..."

And the meeting went on...

* * *

><p>Tallinn, Estonia<p>

Ivan and Eduard had now been in a traffic jam for approximately half an hour. Estonia was extremely glad that he was driving, because otherwise Russia would probably have destroyed Sweden's car's steering wheel with his rage. He was currently in the passenger seat, chanting "kol kol kol" under his breath. Estonia wound his window down so he could stick his head out, being quite shocked at what he saw.

"What is it, Esty?" Ivan asked.

"Sir... it's..." Estonia wasn't sure if he should tell his boss what he could see. He could just tell him that there was a parade, or a riot, or something like that. But then Russia would ask about the parade, and the riot, and... "it's... a Neo-Nazi parade, sir..."

"Kol kol... I hate those guys." Ivan said simply. "There's a gap there, Esty. If you drive into it we might get closer to them and then I can give them a talking to, da?"

Estonia should refuse and stay put, he knows that. But, his own hatred for Neo-Nazis after what Germany did to him during World War II meant that he just nodded and started the engine. A few cars honked, but Estonia paid them no mind and continued to drive until he was almost in the crowd.

A very fat and ugly man with no hair on the top of his head (but rather a lot sticking out of his ears and nose) was doing some sort of speech in a German accent on a temporary stage. Nazi swastikas hung around him, the Estonian police were absent – no doubt most of them were in hospital - and so various men dressed in Estonian army uniforms were having to restrain the protesting crowd, who seemed to be trying to get at the man on the stage.

Russia, purple aura pulsating around him, strode straight through the crowd, simply pushing those who wouldn't move out of the way. The one man who was stupid (and brave) enough to try to stop him got whacked in the shin by Estonia's briefcase (the Baltic seeing the crowd and sensing that a business deal might be possible here).

Finally, Ivan made his way to the stage. The man speaking made a desperate attempt to defend himself, but Russia, still chanting "kol kol kol" pulled the microphone off the stand and strangled the man with the cord until content that he was no longer breathing.

He then said to the crowd "Privet. I am Ivan and I am Russian and I do not like Nazis. If you are a Nazi dickhead, my advice to you would be to go home and rethink your life choices and then stop making such a hash of your life. Or I will do bad things to you with this microphone, da?" He then smiled, bowed, and exited the stage. The crowd parted around him like the Red Sea and many people applauded.

Estonia, meanwhile, was handing out business cards and saying things such as "good afternoon, madam, please think of us when you next wish to buy a property," and "hello, sir, can I interest you in a timeshare? If so, call this number," until Russia picked him up by the back of his collar and dragged him back to the car.

"That was fun, da?" Russia said.

"Um, sure, sir..." Estonia replied.

"Drive, Esty, I want to catch up with Gilbert..."

* * *

><p>Vienna<p>

The Nations had finally come to an agreement. Merlin England was asked, they decided whilst he was still so magical, to try summoning Poland so that the Pole could tell them himself who he had sold the painting to.

Merlin England, however, was starting to wear off. It appeared that having so much magic packed into him was making the Englishman de-stabilised. Belarus was worried, particularly when the Englishman started levitating towards the ceiling and he started glowing.

However, Arthur was nothing if not brave and determined.

"Get that cross-dressing thief here, Arty dude!" America yelled.

So England drew his circle, ignoring the commentary.

"It looks more like an oval, non?"

... and then a pentagram.

"Dude, that's just creepy!"

... and the astrological signs and started humming, his voice rising and falling as he began the spell. "in the name of Daphne, Scooby, Fred, Shaggy, Velma, I summon thee, skirt-wearing Nation, to face your judgement... SHOW YOURSELF!" England commanded, thrusting his arms out in front of him.

There was a flash of blindingly red light (which caused England to squint a bit, Belarus to step back slightly and reach into her pocket for a knife, and France to exclaim "_Mon Dieu!"_)

Once the light had dissipated, all that could be seen was a skirt and a mass of blond hair. "It's worked!" England said triumphantly.

England began rejoicing. He had finally _finally_ summoned who he had meant to summon. But, the magic and his Merlin persona, as if on an expiry date, dissipated and he was... just Arthur again. Belarus flung her arms around him "Oh, Arthur!" she yelled, "You did it... it's..." she was about to say 'Poland' but clearly, although the Nation in front of them was wearing a 'skirt', and was a man, there the similarities ended.

"Ah cannae get BBC Ter!" Scotland shouted at England before throwing a TV remote at England and glaring in disgust.

"Oh, it's just you, Hamish." England sighed.

"Just me? _Just _me? Ah'll have ye know thur are people oot thur who would be glad ter see me! Ach, yer a pathetic excuse fer a nation. Ahm bloody glad ah took over, ah am. Where does tha keep tha Scotch, I cannae find it an' ah need mah Scotch." Scotland looked around, finally noticing where he was. "And where the bloody 'ell am I? As tha summoned me again? Bloody 'ell, man, ye cannae even do a summoning spell right. Yer just a wee jessie."

"Onhonhon, _Monsieur _Scotland 'as come by a secret entrance, _non_?" France chimed in. England elbowed him in the side, muttering something about perverted Frenchmen.

"Ach, it wouldn't be the first time, eh, Francey-pants?" Scotland said lewdly. England, deciding it was about time his brother went back home, began pushing on Scotland's head. "Alreight, alreight, ahm gooin. Bloody 'ell. Ah'll see thee."

The rest of the Nations sighed, and started to disperse. America went off to get some 'snacks', whilst Austria went to make coffee. Germany lit another cigarette.

Once Scotland was gone, England turned to France. "You there! Frog-face!"

"_Oui, mon cher_?"

"My brother, really? Is there anyone you haven't mounted?"

France sighed in reminiscence. "Actually, it was 'im that was doing ze mounting..."

"Bloody Hell, I didn't need to know that..."

"But I suppose... no." France appeared to think further. "Ah... wait. Ah... _non_. Ah... oh yes! Zer ees little Lily... oh, and Peter of course, and Iceland. Ozzer zan zat... _non_."

"Well I should bloody well think not, they're just kids!" England exclaimed, appalled.

"Of course, and I shall wait until zey are adults, oh yes!" France said lewdly and then added, "Oh and leetle Latvia... I have not... but one day when Russia is on his holidays..."

"Is that what you did with Alfred? You'd better not have touched him, or I swear I'll rip your balls off and-"

"Oh, _non_! Spare me!" France fell to his knees. "You must not 'urt leetle Francis! It was only zee one time, I swear! It was during 'iz war of independence..."

Alfred chose this moment to walk in with a plateful of cookies. "Alfred! You're back! That frog... that bloody frog... He hurt you, didn't he? Back then?"

Alfred's eyes went huge, and he almost dropped the plate. "I don't wanna talk about it, dude!"

**Author's Notes:**

**Thanks to Chickenkitty for the idea of Ivan using a microphone as a weapon**

**Gotland – a small Swedish island in the Baltic Sea**

**'Tommy' – slang term for a British soldier in WWII**

**I got the chapter title from the song 'Unstoppable' by The Calling – inspired by Tamarutaca's fanmix of RussiaxLatvia.**

**Translation for Hamish:**

**Ah cannae get BBC Ter! - I cannot get BBC Two!**

**Ah'll have ye know thur are people oot thur who would be glad ter see me! Ach, yer a pathetic excuse fer a nation. Ahm bloody glad ah took over, ah am. Where does tha keep tha Scotch, I cannae find it an' ah need mah Scotch... And where the bloody 'ell am I? As tha summoned me again? Bloody 'ell, man, ye cannae even do a summoning spell right. Yer just a wee jessie.**

**I will have you know that there are people out there who would be glad to see me! You are a pathetic excuse for a nation. I'm bloody glad I took over, I am. Where do you keep your Scotch, I cannot find it and I need my Scotch. ... And where the bloody hell am I? Have you summoned me again? Bloody hell, man, you cannot even do a summon spell right. You are a small pathetic person.**

**Next Chapter: the return of the inimitable (and drunk) Dr Pumplenickelstein, France uses his dubious superpowers, some Pru-Den-Lat and of course Russia wrecks more destruction.**

**PS Anyone who read an earlier edition of this will have seen I put Van Gogh - I meant to put Da Vinci - thanks to Chattie 98 for pointing that out to me.**


	18. Out of Reach

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers. If I've missed anyone, please PM me and tell me off.**

**Warnings: Angst, Pru-Den silliness, swearing.**

Chapter 17 – Out of Reach

Wednesday pm

Hotel Majestic, Warsaw

Lithuania was laid on his stomach on a massage table with just a very tiny towel around his middle to preserve his modesty. He was having his back and legs massaged by a rather nice young Polish girl who kept saying how 'cute' he was. He was sure this was not professional conduct for a masseuse and if they hadn't been in the hotel's five star spa he would have thought they were in a less respectable establishment. Poland was on the next table, laid on his back having his legs waxed, a mud-pack obscuring his features, and having his rather large feet massaged.

"Those stiletto heels were, like, killing my feet."

"You shouldn't have driven 400 miles in them."

"I know, like Liet, but you have to admit my car is just awesome!"

Lithuania sighed. To say he was embarrassed was putting it mildly. The masseurs had swapped three times now – each one had gasped at the twelve long silvery scars streaking down his muscular back and he'd winced at their hushed comments.

Poland had reached across between their respective tables and held his hand briefly, Lithuania gaining strength from the smaller Nation's grasp as his smaller, delicate feminine hand (still wearing red nail polish) caressed his palm.

"This is better than cooking for fat Braginski, eh?" Poland asked.

Lithuania nodded and tried to relax. He just hoped that he could somehow minimise the damage that he felt was heading their way. Poland had had a meeting with Lucinda Lovelace's publishers and had been asked to do a photo-shoot for the upcoming new novel 'Love and Bullets'.

"I'll like do a few photos, Liet. That royalty cheque is going straight into Latty-kins' bank, I promise. Have I ever lied to you?"

Liet decided not to answer that.

"Do you think I should, like, cut my hair? Or perhaps hair extensions would suit me? Trouser suit or skirt suit?"

"Leave your hair as it is, and a trouser suit, please, Pol... I think a skirt might be just too much."

"I know... my legs distract the cameramen, it happens all the time."

Lithuania had no answer for that.

Latvia's publishers had been alarmed to say the least when they'd met Poland. They'd come to accept that Lucinda Lovelace was a pseudonym, that she was reclusive, indeed she was only contactable through an agent – a subsidiary from some shady company called von Bock Enterprises. To find that Lucinda Lovelace was actually a cross-dresser, albeit a glamorous cross-dresser, with a gay boyfriend, had been a shock. However, they were used to writers being unconventional and decided that this could actually become a good marketing ploy.

* * *

><p>Somewhere south of Tallinn, Estonia, Route E67<p>

"Woohoo we're entering Latvia!" Prussia yelled and got punched in the arm by Latvia.

"What was that for?" Den asked her.

Latvia then punched him as well. "There," she told the big Dane, "Now you don't feel left out, da?"

She was now sat between the two of them. Prussia was driving, Denmark was humming along with the only ABBA tape that hadn't been scrunched up by the 'shitty' (Latvia's words) tape-deck.

They'd left Tallinn and were heading for Warsaw and Pol's house where Latvia proposed to 'kick Poland's arse'. Prussia seriously wondered if kidnapping Latvia had been a good idea. Apart from her paying for all their fuel, booze and food he'd actually not got any money out of the deal. Also, he knew he had Russia somewhere behind them. He could almost feel Russia's wrath approaching, like a thunderstorm rumbling in the distance.

Also the 'little Baltic' wasn't the little meek, mild young boy he'd known when he'd resided in Russia's un-awesome house. This Latvia was like a demon and kept waving a revolver in his face, smacking him around the head and he swore his right arm was black and blue from where she'd punched him. She also tutted every-time he'd tried lighting up a cigarette, saying 'they weren't good for the baby' and then had thrown his packet out of the window.

This had caused him to slam the brakes on, throw himself out of his beloved van and charge up and down the highway, ignoring horns hooting at him while he regaled at the world.

Denmark, being far more easy-going – Latvia allowing him his lager – had just sat with a dazed, moronic expression on his face.

They also had to stop every thirty minutes to accommodate Latvia's bodily functions. If she wasn't peeing or vomiting, she was eating ice lollies and, bizarrely, anything with meat. Two burgers, a hotdog and then beef and onion flavour crisps had been munched as they drove. Prussia had been afraid that if they didn't stop when she told him, he would either be vomited on or eaten.

This is what happens, he thought, when Russia was allowed to breed.

"Have you noticed anything odd about dude chick, dude?" Prussia asked Denmark whilst they stood at their respective stalls in the gas station men's toilet.

Denmark spun around, spraying Prussia with pee. "Nah, man, the bump's not showing yet, is it?"

"Dude!" Prussia jumped back, "You peed on me!"

"Hahaha! You should feel honoured!" Denmark laughed uproariously and then laughed even more when a man came out of a cubicle and hurried out when Denmark waved his 'vitals' around some more.

"I mean, do you think she's acting weird?" Prussia said, trying desperately to mop himself down. 'Mein Gott', he thought, 'Denmark's peeing sounds like the Niagara falls. The guy's not normal. Must be all that beer'.

"Ja! Weird, ja."

"Und?"

"She's pregnant, so she will act weird."

"How'd you know?" Prussia asked, despite himself.

"I've had loads of kids, dude. She'll have cravings and feel sick and start kicking our arses."

Prussia shuddered. Denmark was one of his best friends, but he dreaded to think of Denmark producing offspring. "What do you mean 'kicking our arses'?"

"That's what happened with all my girlfriends. They found out and then I got my head kicked in," Denmark laughed at the memories. "Greenland's mom kicked my arse all the way to Helsinki and then back again, but dude, it was worth it."

Prussia stood in front of the air dryer and manoeuvred himself to try and get as much hot air onto his sodden trousers as he could. "Glad I didn't have kids, man."

"...And now dude chick has become one with fat Russkie dude."

"Was?"

"Yup, one with Russia... dude, we have a mini-Russia out there."

"Mein Gott! You're right, dude."

"Always am," Den said confidently, finally zipping up his trousers – much to Gil's relief.

"She keeps saying wut and da."

"And she keeps kicking your arse," Den laughed hilariously at this and proceeded to check his most awesome hair in the mirror, winking at himself happily.

"Fuck off."

In the service station, Latvia was perusing the shelves whilst she waited for the two morons. She'd already filled a basket with beef and onion crisps, bottles of blackcurrant Ribena, a large block of cheese that she really wanted to eat and a packet of ham. She was now surveying the beer for Denmark.

She actually had come to quite like Den and Pru. Prussia had annoyed the hell out of her when they'd both lived together at Russia's house and he still annoyed her, but she also quite liked him and hoped that he wouldn't get into trouble if and when Russia found out he'd helped her to escape. Den, she viewed as a big harmless goon. But she found that beer kept them both in line. She just hoped that Russia's credit card was still valid and that Russia hadn't cancelled it. Perhaps he hadn't realised it was missing.

Whenever she thought of Russia, her heart skipped a beat and she felt tears prick her eyes. The conversation she'd had with the mysterious Miss Ivanova rang in her head. Who was this Mrs Russia? Why hadn't he come to the telephone? Why was there no Red Army battalions after her like there had been when Prussia had made his 'awesome' escape? He didn't care about her, she thought. Or something was very wrong, she thought.

She snuffled into the scarf that was wrapped around her neck - which smelt of him – vodka and sunflowers – and swallowed her tears. Perhaps she should try ringing again. Her thoughts were still mixed up. She couldn't go back, if she went back she would never gain independence, her baby would born under the yoke of the Soviets just like her people, but could she really bring up a baby on her own? There was Hungary who had said she would help, but she too was under communist rule, what could she do?

There was only one thing to do and that was to find Poland and get her royalties back from him. How dare he? He'd obviously been in touch with her publisher and stolen her identity. And what was Lithuania doing with him? It was all very confusing.

"Yo! Dude chick! Get me six bottles of Carlsberg and a bag of Malteasers!"

Latvia dumped the basket in Den's arms, told him to get them himself and strode out to the phone box and placed a call to Leningrad, determined to speak with someone, anyone, who could tell her what the hell was going on.

* * *

><p>Same afternoon, Tallinn, Estonia<p>

Finland and Sweden, the latter driving a very sensible Volvo hire car, went through Tallinn, their mouths open, completely agog at the destruction in the city centre. Much of the old, medieval centre of Tallinn had been closed off and they could see why. There were barricades smashed down, bodies strewn around, ambulances and police cars with sirens blaring whizzing around. It looked as if an invading army had preceded them.

Finland summed it up in one word, "Ivan."

Sweden nodded grimly and turned the car to the highway headed towards the west and joined it. He just hoped that Miss Bollockoff person had been telling the truth and that Peter and these 'companions' were indeed on their way to Warsaw.

They'd considered taking a flight directly to Warsaw but then decided to drive along the E67 to see if they could catch up with this 'psychedelic VW campervan' that Peter had been seen getting into. Surely, they couldn't miss a paint-job like that? And when they did catch them these 'companions' would get well and truly arse-kicked all the way back to Stockholm, Sweden decided with a grim smile on his usually dour face.

* * *

><p>Much further along the road, near the border with Latvia (the country, not the Nation), Estonia had stopped the car and was stocking up on the necessities of travelling with a disgruntled Russian. Vodka, chocolate and, for himself, lots of kohuke were thrown into the basket. He parked Russia back in the beaten-up Volvo, the 'Impounded by Tallinn Police' stickers now removed, gave him a bottle of vodka and a copy of Pravda to hopefully keep him quiet and went off to find a telephone.<p>

"Katya?"

"Nyet, this is Mrs Russia's secretary."

"Ooh, is Miss Ukraine there?" Estonia's head was spinning, they must have replaced Russia he thought. Better not tell the boss, there was no telling what he would do. Estonia peered out through the dirty glass at his boss whose blond head was visible – bent over the paper, the vodka bottle touching his lips every so often.

"Da?" Katya's confident strong voice came on the line.

"Katya?" Estonia's knees went weak and he smiled.

"Ed? Sweetheart! Where are you?"

"On the E67 just going into Latvia. Is everything okay?"

"Of course, they put me in charge. So of course, everything is fine. I haven't invaded any small, undefended little nations, threatened Alfred with nuclear weapons because he called me a fat commie or told Francis I'm going to make Paris my capital just because he stared at my breasts have I? How hard can this be?"

"You're just amazing," Estonia gave a sigh of relief, in his head, the girls, well some of them, perhaps not Belarus, should rule the world, they couldn't make any worse mess of it than some his idiotic fellow male Nations.

"Are you okay, Ed? Is Vanya okay? Have you caught up with Raivis?"

"I'm fine, Katya. Erm, the boss is... okay... and no, we haven't caught up with Raivis. Has she rung there yet?"

"Nyet. And when she does I'll tell her to get back here. Poor Vanya. I bet he's heartbroken, he's lost his first love ..."

"Hmm, Katya I have to go... I erm..."

"Yes?"

"I love you, Katya," Estonia said quickly and then hung up just as quickly. He stepped out of the phone box, smiling to himself, why had he just said that? He had no idea, all he knew was the quicker they could get Latvia back and get back to normal, the better.

Estonia was about to head back to the car when a battered Avis hire car skidded into the car park, screeched to a stop and a shady-looking character straight out of a bad spy movie dressed in a large overcoat, wearing a battered trilby hat, sunglasses and a rather awful lop-sided wig, aimed a rifle out of the open window and fired several shots.

What remained of Berwald's car windscreen shattered, the driver's window was also smashed and bullets peppered the driver's door.

Estonia let out a yell and ran towards the car and flung the passenger door open as the Avis skidded off, the assassin having emptied the rifle of bullets.

"Sir? Sir?" Estonia yelled in panic.

Russia lifted his head and then lifted the vodka bottle that had slipped out of his hand, "I dropped my vodka," he said and then gazed around the car with wide eyes. "Oooh what happened?"

"Someone's trying to kill you, Sir," Estonia said, almost fainting with relief.

Russia looked at the smashed windscreen, the bullet-holes peppering the side of the car and frowned, rubbed his blond head, "Why? Why me?" he said, genuinely confused. "Perhaps they are after you, Esty?"

Estonia shook his head and glared down the highway in the direction of their assailant. "Well, well, well, little Romano... you'll pay for this..." he muttered.

"Wut?" Russia frowned "Esty, you know, I think you've been working too hard," Russia stated as if this could all be explained by Estonia's work ethic. "Let's go to Warsaw," Russia added suddenly.

"Warsaw? Why Warsaw, Sir?" Esty asked, getting into the driver's seat, clearing the remains of the windscreen from the dashboard and starting the engine. The aging Volvo, despite being shot at and having its clutch and suspension ruined by Russia's driving, started up first time. Which says more about the quality of Swedish automobiles than it does about Romano's marksmanship.

Russia waved the morning's edition of Pravda in Esty's face – just as Esty was trying to join the traffic on the highway.

"It says in here that the famous but reclusive author of romantic novels, Lucinda Lovelace, is starting her European book tour in Warsaw promoting her new novel - Love and Bullets."

Estonia glanced at the newspaper, waved at a large truck that had honked its horn at them, "Poland!" he said through gritted teeth.

"Da! That's what I thought. Poland and Lithuania have kidnapped my Aija for her money and Prussia and Denmark are their henchmen," Russia stated, in his little head it was all simple.

"No, Sir..." Estonia shook his head, "I think Poland is just pretending to be Aija, I mean erm Lucinda Lovelace, and I think Prussia and Denmark..." Estonia paused as Russia kolkolled at Prussia's name, "...are maybe taking Latvia to Warsaw..."

"So they did kidnap her?" Russia snarled.

"Maybe she's just gone to get her royalties for her book?" In fact, Estonia was the only one who had figured the whole mess out. It was a shame, he thought, that nobody listened to him. He was just hoping Russia would listen to him and therefore, he could avert a bloodbath.

Russia considered this, "Da, we will go to Warsaw and I will kick their heads in, Polska will not be doing any photoshoots. You cannot do photoshoots without a head, da? And Prussia is dead meat for kidnapping my little sunflower. And Denmark will be drinking his beer through a straw, da. And Aija will come home with me and we will live happily ever after together and have lots of little Russias." Clearly, Russia did not compute any of what Estonia had said.

Estonia, wisely just shook his head. 'Wait and see what happens and try and minimise the damage,' the Estonian thought.

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

Ukraine aka Mrs Russia was dancing up and down the hallway singing, "He loves me, he loves me, he loves me." It had been a long, long time since the 1000 year old Nation had felt this silly and young and it was lovely.

"Mrs Russia?"

"Da?" Katya was brought up short by her secretary.

"There's a Raivis Galante on the telephone..."

Katya ran into the study and snatched up the receiver, "Latvia?"

"Miss Ukraine?"

"Oh Latvia where are you? Why aren't you here? Why did you run away? Vanya ..."

"Oooh Miss Ukraine... I don't know what to do...I'm on the road to Warsaw... hang on...Shut the bloody hell up, Gil, no I'm not... Katya, who's Mrs Russia? Has Vanya got somebody else? Gil, shut up... he's not fat... you need to grow up..."

Katya almost shouted down the telephone, "It's me..."

"I know it's you... but... Gil... if you don't shut the fuck up, I'm going to stick this receiver in your bloody head."

"I'm Mrs Russia!"

Silence.

"Wut?"

"What?"

"I thought..."

"Listen, Raivis..."

"Katya, I don't know what to do... you're Mrs Russia? Wow, that's cool... Gil! Katya's Mrs Russia! Wait... hang on though... I'm pregnant so that must mean..."

The phone went dead.

Katya clutched the receiver and carried on shouting into it, "Raivis! Raivis! You're pregnant? Oooh... Damn and sodding..." and then slowly put the receiver down.

"Miss Ivanova?"

"Yes, Mrs Russia?"

"Get the KGB on the line for me. We need to get hold of Vanya and tell him to get his fat arse to Warsaw."

* * *

><p>Latvia slumped in the phone booth, feeling utterly distraught. She kicked Gilbert out of the way and staggered outside holding her stomach.<p>

Gilbert followed her, "What's up, dude chick?" he asked. Despite his annoyance and irritation, he was concerned about the little 'dude chick'. Denmark also wrenched himself away from his bottle of Carlsberg and jumped out of the waiting van and approached them.

"Vanya's ill or... or..."

"Eh?" Gilbert put a very tentative arm around her shoulders.

"He has to be. Katya's replaced him as Mrs Russia and I'm pregnant with a little Russia, so...he..." she couldn't finish her sentence, couldn't say the word 'dead', but instead leaned against Denmark and burst into tears.

"Big fat commie dude is never bloody ill, dude chick. I bet the Sovs have just decided he's too nutty for them finally and got Miss Big Boobs to take over," Gilbert said, using his illustrious logic.

"Yes, but I'm pregnant so wouldn't that mean the baby's a replacement for Vanya?" she asked her eyes swimming with tears.

"Nah, dude chick. It doesn't work like that. I've had loads of kids... loads and loads..." Denmark stopped and he broke into a huge dreamy smile and his eyes took on a faraway look.

Latvia looked up at him and then sighed impatiently, "...and?" she said.

"...and what?"

"Little baby dude isn't necessarily a replacement for big commie dude. It..." here, Gilbert very carefully (as if a large fist was going to punch him through Latvia's stomach) patted Latvia's mid-section, "It... I mean baby dude might just be Moscow or Leningrad or some other un-awesome shit city."

Prussia decided it was wise not to mention that Russia was very much alive and well and probably just a few miles behind them as they spoke.

"So you think Vanya is okay?" Latvia's voice wavered and she looked up, her bright blue eyes filled with tears again – this time of hope. "Do you think I should go back?"

"Big commie dude is okay. He's always bloody okay. It takes more than that to hurt him. He bloody survived jumping out of a sodding aeroplane. Nothing happened to him when Alaska was born. He just went and sold her," Prussia said. "I mean what a douche-bag."

Latvia considered this and had to agree with Prussia. She was also afraid that if they did go back he would never let her leave and suppose he sold her child? She placed a protective hand on her stomach, took a deep breath, smiled shakily and said, "Let's get going. I want to catch up with Poland. He's besmirching the name of Lucinda Lovelace."

She caught sight of their shared grins and hit them both. "Don't say anything you two goons and get in that van."

**Author's Notes:**

**Was – what in German**

**E67 – the route that goes right through Tallinn, Lithuania, Latvia through to Poland.**

**Kohuke – a type of curd snack eaten in the Baltic states and Russia.**

**Sorry this chapter went on too long and is a bit of a linking chapter to some plotlines. Next chapter is definitely Dr Pumplenicklestein, France's super-powers and the German Government makes a truly awesome decision.**


	19. Doctor, Doctor!

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers. If I've missed anyone, please PM me and tell me off.**

Warnings:None!

Chapter 18 - Doctor, Doctor!

Still Wednesday pm

Vienna, Austria

"I say we go to this auction room house thingy and get this painting and get the hell out of there. Hell yeah, who's with me on this?" The speaker was of course Alfred. He punched the air, pulled out his Colt 45 and fired a few bullets into the ceiling to force the point home. Not that he needed to.

"Mein Gott! More plastering to do... the bill for repairs is already..." Austria pulled out his calculator and started tapping in numbers.

"I mean, old chap, was that necessary?" England sighed "And take that bloody hamburger out of your mouth!"

Alfred ignored them. This was brilliant, finally, he thought, some action. They could storm the building – this prissy poncy art auction house – in full combat gear, balaclavas, toting carbine machine guns, it would be brilliant. Just like that Rambo movie. "I'll be Silvester Stallone!" he yelled.

"Yes, that makes sense," England sighed again, "Because he can't bloody talk properly either."

"Right! Who's with me?" America looked around the conference table. His chances of putting together a crack special ops team were not looking favourable (cracked maybe).

Austria was wiping his glasses and reviewing the figures on his calculator with a sigh. His floral wellington-booted feet were crossing and uncrossing themselves under the table and he beat a stoccato rhythm on the conference table – a sure sign of his irritation.

Italy was gazing happily out of the window. The small Italian's happiness cup had been overflowing of late. His long-lost love and his present love were one and the same and had undergone such a personality change that could only be described as remarkable in the extreme. Going from a snappy, uptight, un-romantic stern man who often yelled at Feliciano to get off his lap, to one who was quite happy to sit for hours whilst Italy braided his hair whilst reciting Italian love poetry to him – all activities that would cause his younger brother, Prussia, to choke on his own awesomeness.

France was twirling his hair in his long, elegant fingers and gazing with obvious lust at his fellow Nations – particularly Germany who was happily oblivious.

England was stirring his cup of tea, his spoon clanking against the cup –which wasn't bone china – much to his disgust (honestly these foreigners) and looking thoroughly irritated.

The only tough-looking Nations present – Belarus and Hungary – were sat whispering and muttering about the stupidity of the assembled male Nations.

America stood up and put one foot on the conference table and put his hands on his hips in what he thought was his best 'Hero' pose and yelled, "Right, are we men or mice?"

Italy put a hand up, very pleased he had what he thought was the right answer, "Pick me, pick me!" he said.

England tutted, "Get your bloody boot off the table. What have I told you? Honestly, anyone would think I brought you up in a bloody barn."

"Dude... chill..." Germany said.

"Honhonhon, you look very erm... how shall I say... effeminate, non? With your hands on your hips?"

"We're Nations!" Italy shouted, delighted he knew the answer.

"We're going to this poncy place and we're gonna get that painting thingy-ma-jig back. Who's with me?" America yelled. (However, he did take his foot off the table.)

"Well, I suppose we should. This is going to be a disaster. I can bloody feel it in my water," England said.

"Get with it, Arty dude. In World War 2 you were all keen to get stuck in. Remember D-Day, dude? That was awesome?"

England stood up, stretched his back. He really felt he was getting too old for all these 'shenanigans'.

"Oh yes, I am with you, Alfred. It will be fun, non? But first, I have some business in Vienna..."

"You're not getting out of this, frogface. It's your bloody fault we're all here. By rights I could be sat at home watching the football on the telly. You can come along and bloody well help. And if we need to buy that bloody thing back you can bloody well stick your hand in your bloody pocket and use some of that money you've got instead of wasting it on tarts and wine." This was a long rant from England, even for him and everyone looked up.

"Ah sacre bleu! It is wonderful that you are yourself again mon Angleterre! But I spend all my money on wine, women and song... and I waste the rest! Honhonhon!" France giggled.

"Are you with us, dude Austrialasia?"

"Was? Austrialasia? What is that? It is AUSTRIA, AUSTRIA, AUSTRIA! Mein Gott, how difficult can it be? You do not get England mixed up with Scotland or Germany with Prussia or France with ... with..." Austria ran out steam and sat down, took off his spectacles, wiped them and glared at America with as much passive-aggressive irritation as he could.

"Nobody can mix up France with anybody, bloody pervert... I mean is there really anybody he won't have a go at?" England muttered to himself and slurped his tea noisily.

"Dude, I'll take that as a yes," America all but yelled in England's ear making the Englishman spill his tea.

"Sodding hell..."

"Italy dude are you with us? And your weird boyfriend, gender-neutral German thingy?" America yelled at Feliciano.

Italy, who had not been listening, looked up, smiled at Germany's quiet contemplative puffing on his 'magical' cigarette and nodded enthusiastically, "Si, I will bring the white flags!"

"Right... hell yeah. Girly Nations can stay here. Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast!" America punched the air, zipped up his aviator jacket, pulled on his sunglasses and stomped out. He thought his rousing speech was very General Patton-like and that should get his 'troops' moving.

Belarus said something extremely rude in a smatter of Russian and Belorussian which roughly translated as 'Go and stick this large cucumber up your very fat backside'.

"Girly Nation?" Hungary growled and she smacked Austria on the arm, "And why don't you stick up for yourself more? You're useless..."

"What's the point? I mean really..." Austria stuttered. He honestly felt he was too old for all this.

England would have agreed with him on this point. He just wanted to be back home, in his favourite armchair, Daisy on his lap, Belarus snuggled next to him, while he drank his tea and watched Manchester United on the telly. 'When could a Nation get a day off?' he thought.

Italy pulled Germany up from his seat and, together, holding hands, they skipped through the door.

Austria and England shared a 'look'. Neither could quite believe what they were seeing.

"Bloody hell! He wasn't like that in the bloody War... I mean bloody hell... skipping around with bloody daisies in his sodding hair... bloody Jerries would have kicked him out of that Panzer tank regiment," Arthur concluded.

Austria just shook his head, "Why does it always come down to the War? Oh, I give up..." Austria sighed heavily, "I hope this isn't going to take long, I have a concert to attend tonight. It's Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 22 by that pianist..." here Austria trailed off as France sniggered.

"Honhonhon, I lurve the word pianist, non? It sounds like..." France was kicked out of the room by England.

"Bloody move you idiot frog and let's get this sodding painting back so I can get back home."

Hungary and Belarus exchanged looks.

"Phew, now they've gone, let's go into the city and see the doctor about your predicament," Hungary said to Belarus.

"I may not be ... but I _feel _as if I am..."

"You might just be late?" Hungary said to her fellow female Nation. "I mean really? Arthur? I sometimes wonder..." she let the comment hang.

Belarus was clearly ruffled by the implication, "My Arthur is more than capable! And I know my own body, Elizaveta. I am in tune with my rhythms..."

Hungary shuddered at this, "Well, okay, okay, calm down, we'll go and see Doctor Pumplenicklestein. Roddy goes to him all the time. He even has an account with him. He must be good if Roddy sees him... come on and we'll find out for sure before you land Arthur with a huge bombshell."

"You think it's a bombshell?" Belarus asked, following Hungary out of the door, fingering her favourite knife in the pocket of her dress.

Hungary decided not to answer that. In her head, England was a stick-in-the-mud older male Nation who liked his comforts, his slippers, and his cocoa. She doubted if the 1000+ year old Nation was going to be all that chuffed about having a screaming half-Belorussian knife-wielding toddler dribbling all over his best china.

Belarus' eyes filled up again – for the fourth time that day.

* * *

><p>Bonn, West Germany<p>

Another meeting. However, this one was a serious affair. There were no rattling cups of tea, no 'honhonhons', no floral wellington boots, no 'Hell yeahs' and certainly no jokes or innuendo.

A German Government official read out a medical document to the six delegates around the table.

"Multiple personality disorder, severe degree of psychosis with a tendency to lapse back to the sixteenth century and claims he will make all the other Nations bow to him and him alone. He has ranted about Austria being a knock-kneed fool and France being a lying pervert."

One of the delegates raised a hand, "Is this Gilbert?"

His fellow delegates all shook their heads.

"Germany." Someone confirmed.

The delegates all sighed.

The official carried on, "The patient also keeps mentioning someone called 'Feli' who appears to be some kind of lover, but we're not sure. My sources think this could be the Nation Italy also called Feliciano Vargas. The doctors have tried various drugs on him, up until now none appeared to have worked... his metabolism is exceedingly fast and the doctors think that his body breaks them down too quickly so they don't have time to work."

Another sigh from the delegates and some muttering.

"However, he has been allowed out on day release with this Italy person who appears to be able to calm him down. We have members of the security services watching them. At the moment our proud Nation is ..." here the official broke off and clicked on the overhead projector and an image came up – obviously of some CCTV somewhere in Vienna. The image of their usually stern, unsmiling Nation could be seen in his tie-dye shirt and velvet pants, daisies in his hair, eating an ice-cream with a big moony grin on his face. Next to him a small, dark-haired man was gazing up at him with not quite shut eyes and a big cheery smile.

"Mein Gott!" someone said.

The others tutted at the image of their stoic Nation slurping an ice-cream like a... well, like an ordinary person.

"This can't go on!" one of the delegates exclaimed, appalled that their hard-working Nation was dressed as a 1960s hippy, eating ice-cream and... what was that? Smoking a joint? Appalling.

"It's been well over six weeks since the incident... at least he's not threatening to invade anyone. But what can we do? We don't have a personification of our Nation. I mean we do but... when it comes to the next World Meeting, England, France and America will tear him to bits in this state and if he thinks he's still Holy Rome then Russia will rip his head off."

"Gilbert?" one of the delegates piped up.

The other five men around the table looked up in horror.

"You can't be serious!"

"He'll cause World War Three!"

"The other Nations wouldn't stand for it."

"Russia will rip his head off."

"Well, what are we going to do? Who else is there? He doesn't have any children that can deputise..."

"Yes, that's a pity. Someone should perhaps have a word and tell him..."

The remaining delegates all looked at this person with a mixture of horror and amazement. Who on earth was going to be given the job of telling Germany that he should go forth and procreate?

"Gilbert it is then. Right. Who's going to inform him that he is now, until further notice, the personification of the German Nation?"

There was horrified silence.

"Don't all speak up."

* * *

><p>Vienna, Austria - later that same day<p>

Hungary and Belarus stood outside Dr Pumplenicklestein's Surgery.

"This is where Roddy always comes when he's ill. Which is often. I mean even when he has a headache... he had a sniffle last week and thought he had pneumonia," Hungary explained, bitterly.

"It says veterinary surgery," Belarus said doubtfully.

Hungary sighed, "Well, perhaps he's a vet as well as a doctor?" she said hopefully.

Belarus was unsure about all this but it was too late. As she was about to retreat down the steps, the door was opened and an elderly man with wild, grey hair and bottle-bottom glasses which magnified his big, staring blue eyes, was smiling at them.

"Ah! What do we have here?" he asked them.

"Dr Pumplenicklestein?" Hungary ventured.

"Ja! That's me!" he said quite happily and ushered them in, staggering somewhat.

'Aw, poor old man,' Hungary thought, 'He must be over 70, he looks like he should be in retirement, look how he's staggering about.'

"How can I help you?" The doctor asked them but he smiled gently at Hungary.

"Well, my ex-husband recommended we come here," Hungary put great emphasis on the 'ex'.

"Ah? A regular patient?"

"Yes, Roderich Edelstein," Hungary confirmed, pulling Belarus in after her and closing the door. Belarus fingered the knife in her pocket and glared around her.

"Ja, a very nervous animal, quite highly strung," the doctor said.

Hungary frowned, she'd heard Austria called many names/things – 'piano bastard', 'poncy-pants', 'specs', 'as tight as a duck's arse' 'cheapskate', 'stupid aristocrat' and her own favourite 'Woderwick', but never an animal.

"Ja, I see you are his mistress then?" the doctor asked Hungary.

Hungary considered this. She'd never been called this before but she actually rather liked the title.

"You ride him a lot?" the doctor continued.

Hungary blushed furiously and ignored Belarus' giggling. "W...w...what did you say?" she stuttered.

"No matter," the doctor waved a hand and ushered them into his surgery, "How can I help you?" he asked.

Hungary and Belarus exchanged a look.

"He's a weirdo," Belarus said with conviction, being one herself she recognised a fellow weirdo.

Hungary sighed, "You said you wanted to find out if you were definitely pregnant or not before you told Arthur?"

Belarus nodded, tears forming in her eyes again.

"Well, come on then," Hungary said and pushed her forward. "She thinks she's pregnant and we need to confirm it," Hungary told the doctor.

The doctor patted the examining table, indicating Belarus was to sit on it.

Belarus hesitated. She found it very difficult to trust anyone who was not her brother or, lately, England. She pulled out a knife from one of her many hidden pockets in her dress, placed it in easy reach and sat on the table – the very same one her big brother had sat on some weeks whilst having his arm stitched up.

Dr Pumplenicklestein gently stroked Natalya's hair, causing the Belorussian to growl. "Ah, very pretty kitty, ja?" the Doctor said, swaying a little.

Belarus picked up her knife, "Creepy sod," she said.

But Dr Pumplenicklestein, Hungary thought, had the look of a kindly grandfather. - a grandfather with the beginnings of senile dementia - but a kindly one.

"What is her name?" the doctor asked Hungary.

"_My _name is Natalya," Belarus answered through clenched teeth.

"Oooh, a feisty little cat, eh?"

"What?" Hungary frowned, did he just say 'cat'?

The vet hiccupped and turned to fumble about on the shelves.

Belarus glared at his turned back and fingered her knife, eyeing the area where his kidneys lay – just one swift upturned thrust with the blade...

Hungary put a warning hand on her arm and shook her head.

The vet took a crafty slug from a bottle of liquor he had secreted in his white lab coat pocket and then found what he was looking for – two specimen bottles.

"I need you to pee in these," he said handing them to Hungary.

"From here?" Belarus asked and then frowned. This was getting more and more ridiculous she thought.

Hungary nudged Belarus and asked, "Both of us?"

"Ja. Nein... oh ja!"

Belarus jumped off the table and began to walk away, "I'm not doing this," she said.

"Come on, you wanted to do this. You want to find out for sure before you tell Arthur."

Belarus stopped and bit her lip apprehensively. She wasn't sure what England's response to her being pregnant would be. Their romance had been rushed to say the least and there was still a lot of Arthur's former life that she didn't understand and had misgivings about. His yelling 'Agincourt!' or 'Waterloo!' at certain points in bed had been alarming to say the least.

His relationships with America and France for a start were complete mysteries to her, as were his references to his former 'colonies'. She loved him, as she'd never loved her brother, he made her feel safe and loved and she never had to use drugs or restraints on him. But she wasn't sure if he was ready for the kind of commitment a child would bring.

"Come on," Hungary was saying as she saw Belarus' hesitancy, "I'll do it with you," she said, hoping a little 'solidarity' would go some way with the icy Slavic Nation, "Not that I need one. Bloody Austria, him and his flipping pyjamas," she added, rather unnecessarily, Belarus thought.

"Do you need to go outside?" the doctor asked them.

"We need a loo," Hungary told him. What was wrong with this idiot, she thought. Flipping Austrians. Too much Mozart, that'll be it.

"Ah, forgive me, ja. The toilet is there," and he pointed to a door leading off from the surgery.

Thirty minutes later found Hungary and Belarus sat in the surgery waiting room awaiting the results of the test.

A baleful German Shepherd sat with its owner growled at Belarus as she thumbed through a gardening magazine (she rather liked the pictures of spades and other sharp implements, but she would have preferred 'Knives Monthly'). Belarus snarled back and the large canine backed off and cowered under its owner's seat.

Hungary also picked up a magazine – about horses and leafed through it idly, 'Nervous animal, ride him, mistress,' all gave her ideas of what she was going to do that night with Austria – provided she could get him out those damn pyjamas and also of course get some privacy.

Dr Pumplenicklestein called them back in and smiled happily, "Two litters, ja," he told them.

"What?" Hungary said, completely at a loss.

"Ja, two ..." the vet said and swayed and shook Hungary's hand.

"You mean she's having twins?" Hungary asked. 'How on earth could he tell from a simple pregnancy test?' she thought.

Belarus leaned against the examination table and went very pale.

"Nein!"

"Nine?" Belarus gasped and almost fainted. An image of nine little Bela-England's destroying Arthur's quaint Edwardian townhouse came into her head. His Wilton rug would be ruined and they'd have to put the Victorian figurines away.

"I mean both tests came back positive," the vet told them.

"Both tests? What do you mean? You were only supposed to be testing her," Hungary pointed at Belarus and then realised, "You mean you tested both urine samples?"

"Ja, ja, congratulations!"

"Positive for what?" Hungary asked, deciding she had better make sure. The man was clearly as drunk as a skunk.

"Babies! Pregnancies? Little kittens, ja!"

It was Hungary's turn to stagger and cling to the examining table.

* * *

><p>At the other side of the city, just outside the Vienna Auction House, six male Nations tumbled out of a taxi.<p>

"I'm not paying for this."

"Germany you fool, you got ice-cream on my suit!"

"Ve, Luddy-kins... I lost my flake!"

"Chillax."

"Honhonhon, five nubile young men in the back seat of a taxi... aaah it is a dream come true... we should have gone further, non?"

"Rock out, dudes! We're totally here! Right let's get in there and get that picture and show them who's boss!"

**Author's Notes:**

**D-Day – 6th June 1944, the date of the Allied landings in Normandy which precipitated the re-taking of Europe from Nazi Germany.**

**General Patton – a famous American General particularly during the 2nd World War, he was famous for his gruffness and often outspoken views.**

**Bonn was the capital of West Germany during this time.**

**Reviews/PMs/comments welcome.**

**Next Chapter: France's superpowers, Pru-Den's guide to getting a free meal**


	20. Trouble

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers. If I've missed anyone, please PM me and tell me off.**

**Warnings:Pru-Den, sexual innuendo, France, silliness**

Chapter 19 - Trouble

Late Wednesday PM

Route E67, Latvia-Lithuania

They had been travelling for five hours – through Latvia (Latvia sniffing and having a little cry when she saw the industrialisation of her capital city, Riga). "He only wanted me for a port!" she'd cried and then stroked her stomach and whispered to her non-existent bump, "I won't let him take you and sell you, I promise."

They were now driving through the flat green countryside of Lithuania.

"I miss having a pet Baltic," Denmark suddenly piped up, whilst opening yet another bottle of beer with his teeth.

Latvia ignored him, "How about another game of I Spy?" she asked.

"I spy with my little eye..." Den started.

"Kesese that's not the only thing little about you, Den."

"Copenhagen's bigger than your five metres."

"Get on with the bloody game!" Latvia all but yelled. Her morning sickness had eased as the day went on. However, her irritability was at an all-time high. Spending all day stuck in a totally un-awesome ex-sanitary hygiene van with suspicious smells did not help.

"I spy with my little eye... something beginning with... C!" Denmark all but yelled, spilling his beer on Latvia.

"Car." Latvia sighed.

"How did you know?"

"Because, Denmark you idiot loon, you always pick car."

"But there's nothing but cars! Can't we stop somewhere?"

"No we fucking can't," Prussia said. "We're not stopping just so you can watch Scooby Doo."

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with R," Latvia said.

"Retard!" Denmarks shouted.

"Randy!" Prussia shouted back.

"Something you can see," Latvia said.

"Railway," Denmark said.

"Where?"

"Dunno, somewhere."

"We give up," Prussia said.

"Russia!" Latvia said.

Prussia almost choked, "W...w...what? F...f...fucking hell!" and then stepped on the accelerator. Bloody hell, he thought, the fat commie dude's caught up with them.

"Hahaha! Your face, Gil, was hilarious" Latvia started laughing.

They did eventually stop – at a very seedy motel on the outskirts of Vilnius.

Latvia pulled out Russia's credit card to pay yet again, however, this time they got a shock

"I'm sorry, this card has been cancelled," they were told by the bored-looking, greasy-haired man behind the counter who looked at the three Nations with undisguised lewdness. Two men and a woman sharing a room?

"Try it again," Latvia insisted.

"I've swiped it three times, love," the man said.

Denmark looked as if he were going to start crying, "No the credit card! Oh man! How'm I gonna get my beer?"

Prussia put a hand on his shoulder, "Man up, dude, we'll get you your beer," he told him.

Latvia trembled, "Are you sure it's cancelled?" she asked the greasy man.

"It's down here as cancelled," the man said, glancing at Denmark who had huddled into a foetal position. The big Dane had loved that visa like it was his own child. "Do you have cash?"

Latvia turned to Prussia, "It's about time you paid for something you free-loader!" she told Gilbert.

Gilbert frowned and dug in his pockets and extracted a broken biro, a pack of condoms, a receipt stub from a strip club, his van keys (adorning the key-ring was a tiny plastic naked woman), two cigarettes (both crushed), ten deutschmarks and a pair of sunglasses with one lens missing. In short, the sum total of his worldly possessions.

Denmark, it turned out, possessed even less – a bottle opener, a used piece of chewing gum, a tube of something that Latvia hoped was hair gel and a handkerchief of indeterminate colour – Latvia assumed it should have been white. (Sweden and Finland always made sure Den and Sealand had a handkerchief with them before they left the house.)

Unbelievably, the man refused to accept any of these items as payment for the motel room.

Latvia sighed and dug into her pockets and pulled out the wad of 'emergency money' – the American dollars she'd taken from Estonia's safe.

"I'll pay this time, but you are going to pay for dinner." She told Gil.

Gilbert nodded.

Den whispered to him "How're you gonna do that, dude?"

Gil leaned in to his fellow Nation and said, "Remember that time we were in that restaurant with Francis and we didn't have to pay?"

"You mean that time we were chased out by that dude in white with a meat cleaver?"

"Nah, that was the time Francis said the sauce was crap and we got chased by that chef."

"Oh, well, you mean that time when we..." here Den whispered in Gilbert's ear so that 'dude chick' couldn't hear.

"Nah man! That was disgusting. I ain't doing that... it got stuck and then Francis had to use butter and then that guy called the police..." Prussia hurriedly dropped his voice lower as Latvia turned and glared at him.

"Can you recommend any restaurants around here?" Latvia asked the man.

The man looked them all up and down – Denmark had recovered sufficiently, with the appearance of money he knew his beer supply was guaranteed, but he was still wearing a traffic cone on his head and had a moronic half-dazed look on his face. Prussia was looking dishevelled to say the least, his red eyes were redder than usual – lack of sleep and nearly 7 hours of continual driving had given them a staring quality that made him look like an axe murderer. Latvia looked pale and exhausted and was even now wanting the toilet and wanting to eat. And in her current frame of mind she didn't want to be pissed around with.

"There is the Fryers on Tyres around the corner..." the man said and laughed.

"Is that one of those burger vans?" Den asked.

Latvia did not think this was funny, "You think we are not fit for a restaurant, da?" she asked the man and, alarmingly, a purple haze started to glow around her.

Prussia backed off, "Wooo dude chick," he said.

The man looked at the young, blond girl who had come in looking so incongruous in a baggy military outfit with a tatty padded jacket and a red scarf around her neck, looking at first so meek, tired and quiet and now at someone who suddenly raised herself to her full five feet four inches (although appearing taller), pale cheeks burning, strange purple flashes in her eyes and a weird shimmer around her.

The man gulped "Hmmm, I mean there's the Restaurant Chez Pierre down in the town..."

"That's better, we'll go there. Come on you loons," she said and pushed the two 'loons' out.

"Dude chick's turning into fat commie dude..." Pru whispered to Den as they headed back to the van.

Den didn't comment, he was working out when Scooby Doo was on, he just hoped he hadn't missed tonight's episode.

* * *

><p>A telephone booth just off route E67<p>

"I cancelled the card so that she'll have to turn around and come home," Katya was saying to Estonia.

"But that was how we were tracing her, Katya!" Estonia batted his head against the telephone booth and looked out at the wreckage that was Sweden's Volvo. He was exhausted. Russia had insisted that they keep driving along the E67, with no windscreen, the suspension blown, a huge hole in one of the doors – if it hadn't been for Russia's scarves they would have got frostbite on their faces with the freezing Baltic temperatures hitting their faces.

"I know but I thought if she had no money..."

"She has American dollars – she'll just use them!" Estonia almost shouted, and then he stopped and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Katya."

Katya went very quiet, "There is no need to shout, Ed," she said firmly, "I'm trying my best here. Besides she's pregnant so she'll come back soon after she's kicked Poland's arse."

"She's what?"

"Going to kick Poland's arse."

"No, not that, that other thing..." Estonia leaned against the telephone booth, did she just say...

"Pregnant."

Estonia was about to say something else when the phone was cut off and he stood staring at the receiver. He looked back at the 'car' and its occupant who was sat humming to himself, smoking a cigarette and drinking vodka as if it were quiet normal to be sitting in a car that should really be consigned to a junkyard.

Estonia weighed up his options. Should he tell Russia he was going to be a father? Estonia was a wily old fox. He had been under the dominion of various nations far bigger than him – Denmark, Russia, Sweden and under each one he had suffered as had his people to varying degrees. However, he had learnt, under his current boss who was largely oblivious with severe memory lapses the opportunities of making money on the side had been enormous. But he wasn't totally without emotion. He loved Katya and he cared about his fellow Baltics as if they were his siblings. He was also strangely fond of Russia although the big unpredictable Nation scared him. But in his many dealings with Russia he'd learnt the best thing was to play dumb and be ignorant. Let Latvia tell him, he thought, it makes not one iota if he knows now or later.

"Where is she now?" Russia asked the Estonian as soon as Eduard got back 'into' the car. (It is difficult to say that someone was 'in' a car when there was no windscreen and a large hole in the passenger door.)

"I don't know," Estonia said truthfully.

Russia looked up. He'd relied on Estonia to keep track of this credit card. Russia had no idea how that worked – it sounded rather like magic to him but eventually he hoped that it would lead them to his little sunflower.

"But she's still going to Warsaw?" Russia asked hopefully.

"Oh yes, Katya says so..."

"What else did she say?" Russia asked.

"Hmmm, nothing," Estonia said decisively.

Russia sighed heavily, "Let's go to the airport and get a flight to Warsaw, da?" Russia liked airports and he reasoned that he could get to Warsaw quicker than Latvia, kick Polska's arse and then carry Latvia home in his arms.

Estonia nodded rather too vigorously and almost threw his arms around his boss.

"Do you think she'll come back to me?" he asked Estonia sadly as Eduard started the poor abused car engine.

"I'm sure she will, Sir," Estonia said and crossed his fingers.

* * *

><p>Restaurant Chez Pierre, Vilnius, Lithuania<p>

"Have you booked?" the maitre d' asked. The man had a suit on that looked as if it had been ironed on the guy and he looked as if he'd had a banana shoved up his backside. He sneered at the three Nations as if he'd found a large dog-turd on the under-side of his expensive leather loafers.

"Yes, we have," Prussia said confidently.

Latvia looked at him in amazement.

Even Denmark took the traffic cone off his head and scratched his wild blond hair. Latvia took the cone from him and threw it into a nearby pot plant.

The maitre d' stepped back in over-dramatic incredulity and said, "What name?"

"Lovelace," Prussia said.

Latvia was about to say something but then a large, red-faced man came charging out of seemingly nowhere.

"Lucinda Lovelace? The famous authoress? She is here in my restaurant?"

"Yeah, mate," Prussia nodded and pointed at Latvia.

The large man, whom Latvia assumed to be 'Pierre' hugged her tightly, "Ah Miss Lovelace you will eat here, non? I love all your books – Symphony of Lurve... ah yes!"

Prussia whispered to her as she struggled to free herself from the man's grasp. "Just go with it, dude chick."

Latvia glared at him, "I _am _Lucinda Lovelace, fool," she said.

"Of course you are! But you do not look like you did this morning on Good Morning Baltics?" 'Pierre' asked her.

"Hmm, I've been travelling and ... this is just ..." she indicated her military combats and thought furiously. She was glad she didn't look anything like a cross-dressing Polish man.

"She's dressed like that for publicity for her new novel. Love and Ferrets," Prussia told the man in a conspiratorial manner.

The maitre d' clearly did not believe any of this and was looking at the three Nations with undisguised disgust as if they'd brought a lorry-load of effluence in with them.

"Bullets," Latvia corrected.

"Yeah, Bullets and Ferrets," Prussia said.

"So this is the famous Ivan in the novel?" Pierre indicated Gilbert, "I read about it this morning in the Riga Times," 'Pierre asked, his whole body wobbling with obvious pleasure at having met his favourite romantic novelist.

Prussia looked as if he were going to retch, Latvia laughed so hard she thought she was going to burst a blood vessel.

"Oh dear God, no..." Latvia shook her head.

"Kesese! You wish, dude chick..."

Latvia raised a hand about six inches above Gil's head, "You have to be this tall to go on this ride, sweetie," she told the Prussian.

Somebody else who seemed to have celebrity status was Denmark who had three children attached to him all chanting 'Bad Santa, Bad Santa'.

Pru and Latvia shared a look and then both shrugged.

"So do we get a free meal?" Prussia asked as they were shown to a table.

The maitre d' who seated them, wiping his hands on his immaculate trousers as he did so as if they were contaminated, appeared to seriously consider the question, "Aaaah, no!" he said finally and then bustled off in a very camp manner.

"I love children..." Denmark said dreamily as his 'fans' were finally dragged away from the tall, mad-haired Dane by their worried-looking parents.

"You'd better have some money, Gil, cos I ain't paying," Latvia told him and to force this home, her purple aura shimmered – albeit briefly.

Gilbert was not scared, certainly not of some little Latvian dude, however, he was aware that he could quite easily be in the company of an embryonic Russia and that was enough to make him wary.

"Don't worry, dude chick, I got it covered," he said confidently. He then looked across the table at Dude Den, "Hey Dude Den, remember when we were in that restaurant with Alfred?"

Den looked up from his examination of the breadsticks – he then proceeded to stick two in his mouth like large fangs and grinned at Latvia as if it were the funniest thing on earth.

She glared at him.

"Ja?" Den said or should one say mumbled – it's very difficult to talk with two 12 inch breadsticks shoved in your mouth.

"We'll do what we did then, 'kay?"

Den took the sticks of bread out of his huge mouth and considered this, "This time we don't need a note from England?" Denmark asked, his eyes wide.

"Nah mate."

"I don't have my lube with me," Denmark said, much too loudly, Latvia thought, for a public place.

"Nah, man, not _that _time, I mean that time we were with Alfred, not Francis..."

"Oh right, phew... oh yeah."

Latvia narrowed her eyes.

* * *

><p>Russia and Estonia were sat at Vilnius Airport, correction, Russia was laid spread-eagled across four seats fast asleep and snoring like an overworked tractor, whilst Estonia was stood at the Aeroflot desk trying to get two seats on a flight to Warsaw. He was not being very successful.<p>

_Russia held the young girl on his lap and kissed her gently, his hand lifting to hold of her soft breast and caress it tentatively. The girl moaned and kissed him back. He pulled his lips away from hers regretfully and peered into the pitch-darkness. Her lips felt so enticing, the feel of the soft skin of her thigh on his lap, her small hands fluttering against his chest... all this felt vaguely familiar. If only he could see her face... Hmmmmm, so nice... she smelt of apples, the sea, sunflowers and vodka. His favourite scents. He kissed her again ... that kiss was so familiar... she must be..._

"Sir! There are no flights so we have to go..." Estonia told him and then realised that he'd made a mistake in his tiredness. Never wake a sleeping Russia.

Russia jumped up, his blond hair on end, as well as other areas of his anatomy. He hurriedly covered his nether regions with a copy of Pravda.

"Wut? It's Aija... she must be... ooooh," he said. The girl he'd kissed in that closet last Halloween... so no wonder Hungary had thumped him, Belgium had looked at him like he'd just stepped off a spaceship and poor little Lily...

Estonia stepped back defensively, "Er, riiiiight... let's go, Sir and find a motel room."

Watching them were not one pair of eyes, not two, but many.

A short, dark-haired, very bad-tempered Italian watched them from across the huge Departure Hall through binoculars. His cheap wig was askew and his dark glasses looked ridiculous in the interior of the airport. However, it was important, he thought, to keep up a disguise.

"Damn vodka bastard just won't die," he thought and then he was about to put down his binoculars when he caught sight of a pretty girl.

Romano was a sucker for a pretty girl. This particular pretty girl was also watching the vodka bastard but she was at the other side of the hall. The vodka bastard was now waving his arms around and yelling something about 'Asia' ('poor China', thought Romano). The pretty girl was very pretty, if dressed a little formally. She also looked familiar. Until Romano realised it was the girl from the hire car company, who he'd had to regretfully leave whilst on their first date.

He threw his binoculars down and waved at her, "Hey, hey, pretty girl! Remember me?" he waved and shouted, but to no avail. The pretty girl was already moving away and going down the steps towards Russia.

Romano sighed and pulled his overcoat around him and set off to try and intercept her. But was caught up in a huge throng of German tourists.

The 'pretty girl' surreptitiously hid behind a pillar and waited to apprehend her Nation. Major Bollockoff, oblivious to Romano's waving, was about to pull out her ID card and approach Russia when a series of unfortunate events were to stop her.

The other eyes watching Russia with great interest belonged to four shaven-headed, muscular young men, all wearing black bomber jackets with swastikas tattooed on their bulging biceps.

"That's the guy who killed Manfred with a microphone," one of them all but mumbled. It had been a significant effort for him to link these words into a coherent sentence and he felt rather proud about it. He looked like an ape with his sloping bulbous forehead, except that would be insulting to apes.

His fellow 'apes' looked equally un-evolved.

"Ja."

"Let's get him."

"Ja."

This was obviously the sum total of their 'strategy'. Indeed, their collective IQ would have been dwarfed by Denmark, who would have appeared Einstein-like to them.

Oblivious to the approaching danger, Russia followed Estonia, still thinking about that Halloween kiss.

* * *

><p>'Restaurant Chez Pierre', Vilnius, Lithuania<p>

"Duck terrine, 20 ounce sirloin steak, rare, extra fries, four beers, the side order of sauerkraut with chopped potatoes and ..." here Prussia paused as the maitre d', his nose wrinkling in disgust, wrote the order down, "three servings of your chocolate mousse."

The maitre d' was about to walk off when Den called him back, "Hey dude!" Den yelled making the whole restaurant look up.

Several snotty-nosed women stared in horror, a man behind Den almost choked on his soup whilst several children tittered, "What about my order? I want beef – rare, the biggest joint you can find I dunno... a leg of something... with lots and lots of beer – Carlsberg. Bread and not your rubbish black rye stuff and some bacon. And two lots of suffle," here Den pointed at the dessert menu.

"That is soufflé, Sir." The Maitre d' pronounced the word 'Sir' with a distinct edge in his voice.

"What you 'aving, dude chick?"

"A rare steak, please and fries but with salad... for the baby," she patted her tummy gently and tried a smile at the head waiter.

The man looked at her, saw she wasn't wearing a wedding ring, muttered, "Unmarried mother, tart," and was about to walk off when Prussia grabbed him by the lapels.

"Listen, dude fancy-pants. Lay off the shitty attitude, the looking at us as if we have fleas and bring the food. And if you look at my little dude chick funny again you see this soup spoon?"

The maitre d' nodded, his face white, eye to eye with the red-eyed Prussian.

"...It'll be so far up your arse then you'll have to have a tracheoctomy to remove it, 'kay?"

The man nodded, shaking.

Prussia waved the spoon around to ensure everyone had heard him and then sat down and started throwing bits of bread to Den for the latter Nation to catch in his mouth.

* * *

><p>Vienna, Austria<p>

America, wearing black combat gear, a balaclava and carrying his Colt 45, led his team of crack black ops into the Vienna Auction House.

"This is absolutely bloody ridiculous. You do realise how stupid you look, don't you?" England complained. Really that football match would be nearly over now – and they were playing Chelsea.

"Hey, I know what I'm doing – so chill, cos I'm American!"

"This is nice, is there is a gift shop?" Italy asked and wandered off with a spaced-out Germany in tow.

"Does anyone actually have any money?" Austria asked, "I mean if we're here to make a purchase?"

It was a reasonable question and the remaining four Nations had a look in their respective pockets.

"Well, I have exactly five pounds and thirteen pence, a tea-bag - used, an elastic band, one of Bela's hair ribbons and a rubber," England announced.

"Honhonhon, a rubber eh?"

"A pencil rubber you pervert."

"Well I have a programme for the piano recital I _will _be attending tonight and... that is all," Austria said hurriedly.

"Bugger off, you've always got loads of money," England retorted, "Come on empty that wallet."

Austria shame-facedly opened his wallet. A beleaguered moth flew out and he sighed heavily as he counted the notes therein. "Hmmm around 500 schilling..." the Austrian said, pulling them out.

France started laughing "Ah mon Autriche! These notes are fifty years old!"

Austria flushed, "I like to save money," he said.

America stuck his hand in his pocket, "How much more do we need Arty dude to buy that thingy?" he asked England.

"Around 49 million, 9 hundred and ninety-five thousand dollars," England said with a big sigh.

"Gotcha!" America shuffled around and pulled out a broken Luke Skywalker figurine, a packet of gum, three dollars and fifteen cents and a Bank of America visa card.

"Bingo!" England exclaimed, almost diving on the credit card.

"You do not wish to 'ave a look in my pockets, non?" France purred.

"No we bloody well do not!" England said and strode up to the reception.

But France was already rooting through his pockets – to America and Austria's horrified fascination.

A tube of something that America thought, in his innocence, looked like hair removal cream, but wasn't, a strange long rubbery thing (Austria put his hands over America's eyes when that appeared – he felt as the older Nation he should try to regain some propriety on the proceedings) and then a rolled-up copy of a dubious-looking magazine which appeared to have rather improbably oiled, muscular young men – and women – on the cover. France was about to root about further when Austria, his cheeks flaming red, one hand still over America's eyes, held up his other hand, "Please in the name of Charlemagne, do not put your hand in that pocket again. And please put those _things_" (here Austria shuddered) "back."

France smiled leeringly whilst America was trying to get Austria's hand from his eyes, "Dude! What's going on? I can't see? What's he got? Does he have any money?" America yelled.

"Houston! We have a problem!" England called from the reception where he was waving America's credit card around and shouting at the stern-looking Austrian receptionist.

"Dude, s'up?" America asked as he ambled across.

"They say that we can't just buy the thing. It's up for public auction this Friday. It'll go for more than $50 million and that is more than your credit card has on it," England explained.

"Dude, my boss tops this up every month for my expenses," America fingered his credit card lovingly.

"A public auction?" France asked, still shoving his 'possessions' back in his pocket.

"Yes, so that means..."

"Everyone will see it..."

"We're screwed, dudes," America concluded.

"Don't honhon Francis, or you will be exiting this building through the nearest window," England told France before he even opened his mouth.

"Is there any way we can see it before it goes up for this auction thingy?" America asked the receptionist.

The Austrian woman behind the desk had an expression on her face that could stop a tank at fifty paces. She had her hair in a very severe bun at the back of her head which looked like a small rock. Her eyes were blue but looked like little chips of ice and her mouth was set in a severe thin line. She looked as if she had never laughed in her life.

"Nein," she said simply and went back to her work and ignored the four men in front of her.

"Why ever not?" England ventured.

"It is locked away from..." here she looked them over with extreme distaste, "vandals and members of the criminal fraternity."

"Well, I say!" England was outraged. "I'll have you know that we are upstanding members of our respective Governments..."

America nodded seriously and fingered his Colt 45 in his shoulder holster, should he do his 'Rambo' bit yet, he wondered.

Austria was humming Chopin, and hoping that Feliciano wasn't buying up the whole gift shop.

France was filing his nails and alternately flicking his blond locks.

"I don't care," the woman said simply.

"Well, where is it then?" England asked her.

The woman looked them up and down and sneered, "I am not telling _you._" She said as if they were the scum of the earth.

England almost exploded with rage.

France put a hand on his shoulder, "Angleterre, leave zis to me..." he purred, flicked back his gorgeous blond hair and sidled up to the reception desk with a smooth panther-like movement.

England stepped back and pulled America with him.

Francis waved a hand at his fellow Nations, "Watch and learn, mes amis," he murmured and turned his attention to the grim-faced woman.

Austria stomped off, "I'm not hanging around to watch _him,_ that Schürzenjäger."

England and America walked off and prepared to watch France from a distance. "Bloody hate him, how does he do it? Sodding France..." England muttered.

America, who was completely oblivious in a Russia-type way, was thinking of other ways he could get the information – water torture? Waving his gun around? Or just inflicting 12 hours of Austria's piano Chopin-thingy on the woman? Actually, he thought, the water torture would be infinitely preferable. He doubted the Chopin thingy could get past the Court of Human Rights.

From where they were stood, America and England couldn't tell what France was saying. He was leaning right across the reception, his elegant arse sticking out at an enticing angle that made England want to go across and kick it. The Frenchman was also flicking his hair around rather a lot and there were lots of 'honhonhons', and then Francis suddenly climbed onto the Reception desk and sprawled across it sexily, somehow or other – by magic or other means, the top four buttons of his shirt had popped open and his manly, hairy chest was visible to the adoring world.

England shook his head and waited for the inevitable. Usually by this time, the object of the Frenchman's desire would be in a puddle of lust on the floor or dragging Francis into a closet or nearby hotel room.

This time, however, appeared to be the exception to the rule.

Francis was really going all out now. England could see a sheen of sweat on Francis' elegant brow, as the fragrant Gallic seducer flicked his locks over and over and purred at the stony-faced receptionist.

"I can't believe it!" England said euphorically.

"I know, right? I'm gonna need some glue to fix that arm on Luke Skywalker," America said, still fiddling with his action figure.

"No... France is... has... failed... he didn't seduce her... it didn't work..." England clapped his hands together in glee. "I'm so happy!" he said and reached up and kissed America – unfortunately he didn't pull the American down enough – he was somehow aiming for the top of America's head – Alfred being a couple of inches taller than himself – and kissed him smack on the mouth.

"Oooh, Arty, dude!" America stepped back, "I mean I know you spend a lot of time with Francis and all that and you've gotten some European habits but I ain't like that, man..."

"Noooooooooo!" England wailed, "I didn't mean to..."

But it wasn't America he should explain to. For, as that moment, just entering the lobby, was Belarus and Hungary.

Belarus – seeing the father of her unborn child kissing one of her (in her head) main rivals – fled in tears.

Francis would also have fled in tears. Actually he was in tears. "I have failed! Mon superpowers have left me!" he sobbed and flung himself into England's arms, "Oh Arthur, mon Angleterre, what shall I do?"

"You can get your bloody hands off me, you French tart!"

* * *

><p>Chez Pierre, Vilnius, Lithuania<p>

"Are you ready to pay, Sirs?" the maitre d' asked the three stuffed Nations.

Latvia turned to Pru and said, "Go on, Gil, your turn. I'm off to the loo," she said and got up, leaving the two loons to it.

"You'll give us this meal free won't you?" Pru asked the man who was viewing the wreckage of the table with nose-sniffing disdain.

"And why would we do that?" the man asked disdainfully, brushing an imaginary crumb off his immaculate jacket.

Prussia and Denmark grinned at one another. "Because otherwise we'll come here tomorrow night and the night after and the night after that..." Prussia said.

The maitre d' was about to retort when Denmark leaned right back in his chair and said to the couple behind him "Hey dude! How much for your wife?"

The male customer behind him choked on his soup, "W...what?"

"How much for your wife? I buy your wife? She pretty..." Denmark made disgusting grunting noises and grinned at the man's female companion who almost fainted.

Prussia then, to the maitre d's further horror, stood up, "Who wants to buy my friend? Stand up, Dude Den..."

Den stood up on the table and slowly starting turning around as if on display.

"Show us your bod, Den! Let the women see what they're getting..."

The maitre d' was beetroot red and shouted, "Get down, get down, alright, alright... please just... don't..."

"Don't what?" Pru asked as Den started to unbuckle his belt, "Hey ladies want to see what you're getting pound for pound?" he yelled. Some of the restaurant was emptying, most of the women had taken to hiding behind napkins – and some were staring agog.

"You can have your meal for free... but please, I beg you, never ever return..."

"Danke!" Prussia said, shook the man's hand so hard he almost took it off and headed out the door. He paused long enough to whistle Den as if the Dane was a large dog and they loitered outside, giggling like idiot schoolboys until Latvia came out.

**Author's Notes:**

**The Halloween kiss - a little nod to my other story, A Day In the Life – Russia has got to remember and put two and two together at some time hasn't he?**

**Schürzenjäger – German for womaniser**

**Sorry – very long chapter but had a lot to get in – also not sure if I can update for a week or so.**

**Also lots of movie references in there.**

**Man United vs Chelsea – little nod to my faithful reviewer Chickenkitty.**

**Next Chapter – death by Murphy bed, more of Russia's unusual choice of weapons and sex education classes with Latvia.**


	21. Sweet Dreams

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): fire hores is awesome, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: violence, the No. 69, idiocy, sexual innuendo, Su-Fin fluff, Pol-Liet fluff**

**Late evening**

Chapter 20 – Sweet Dreams

"I don't like you." These four simple words were spoken by Russia to the four shaven-headed goons stood before him.

The word 'goon' has been used a lot in this story – usually to describe Denmark. However, these four 'men' were not tall, cheery, Scooby-Doo obsessed Nordics. They were 'Nazi nutters' as Estonia termed them.

"You killed our leader," one of them told Russia. They all decided Russia was a fat, out of shape 'old codger' and thus easy pickings.

They were wrong. So very wrong.

Several things happened at once. Major Bollockoff, who was approaching from the other end of the Departures Hall only saw a noisy, bloody skirmish. Estonia, though, saw it all.

Russia put his hand in his pocket and pulled out... a small wooden chip shop fork. He couldn't remember having fish and chips, maybe when he was last in Britain? To anyone else the 'fork' would have been useful for just that – eating fish and chips out of a plastic tray (or in the English tradition, out of newspaper) but not in Russia's hands.

He jabbed it in the right eye of the ringleader who yowled in pain, blood spurting from his eye socket. Russia slammed his head onto the nearby checking-in desk until the man stopped screaming. The body was then disposed of on the conveyor belt along with other people's luggage – no doubt on its way to somewhere warmer, Russia thought.

The three other men had hesitated, clearly this was no ordinary 'old man' they thought. Russia grabbed one of the men in an armlock and his demise was met with a fist in the face and his body crammed into a Walls ice cream bin. The remaining two 'Nazi nutters' should have run, if they'd had any sense remaining. They didn't, in fact as a testament to how stupid they really were they attempted an attack on Russia. One ended his days with the security barrier chain around his neck, whilst the other had, quite fittingly, a metal exit sign wrapped around his head.

Estonia, mindful that the Airport security was on its way, grabbed his boss and practically dragged him to the exit – nicely signposted by a dead neo-Nazi.

"I don't like Nazis," Russia explained, needlessly - Estonia thought.

* * *

><p>Vienna Art Auction House<p>

England's euphoria at France's failed seduction was short-lived, his victory dance pulled up short by America.

"Dude Arty, I know you love me but..."

"I don't bloody love you... well I do, but not like that..."

"Hmmm, riiiiiight, we have to get this painting and..."

They were interrupted by Italy who smartly stepped past the sobbing France ("Nobody lurves me... it is a tragedy!" the fragrant Frenchman wailed.)

"She said it was at the Swiss Bank justa downa the road!" Italy told them cheerfully.

"How in the name of arse do you know that?"

"She told me," Italy smiled and waved at the receptionist. The stony, cold-faced receptionist actually smiled and waved back.

"How did you do that, dude?"

"I asked her nice and polite, justa lika my mama told me!" Italy grinned.

"Well, bloody hell!" was all Arthur could say.

"Right, so it's a bank job," Alfred said – much too loudly for Arthur's taste.

"Shut up you fool, don't tell everyone!"

"Hahaha, woohoo, rock out! We could get helicoptered onto the roof and abseil down the building using tampons..."

"Crampons..."

"That's what I said, and then smash the windows and we're in..."

"Dear Lord, it won't be that easy..."

All the above conversation was conducted in the taxi back to Austria's mansion.

"I'm not doing any 'bank job', I have a piano recital to go to," Austria told them.

"Germany, are you in this with us?" Alfred asked the hippy sat next to him.

"Ja, chill!"

"Italy?"

"Si!"

"And I bet we can use the girlies for cover... sorted." Alfred's eyes shone with the idea of upcoming explosions, possible car chases and guns.

Arthur shook his head, this was going to end in disaster. He just knew it. And for once, Arthur was right.

* * *

><p>Vilnius, Lithuania<p>

"Channel 69! Hurhurhur!" Denmark grunted. The said Nation was laid across the bed he'd requisitioned, staring goggle-eyed at the motel television.

This particular motel was seedy to say the least. Latvia was convinced something had died in the wardrobe – which had a door hanging off and the bathroom was a dingy grey with quite possibly the cure for all known diseases growing on the grubby shower curtain.

There was also the epitaph 'Pants' on the mirror in red lipstick. Latvia wasn't sure if this meant 'out of breath' type of pants or pants of the underwear variety.

"Hurhur Channel 69..." Denmark leered at Latvia.

"So?"

"Chanel 69, dude chick..." Denmark grinned at her and chugged his beer.

"What's funny?" Latvia asked.

"69..."

"Go on then, explain," she said.

"Well... you know... 69..." Denmark hesitated. "Dude Gil... tell dude chick..." he yelled across the room at Prussia who was trying to make an outside call from the telephone.

"Leave me outta this, dude."

"You don't know do you?" Latvia said, smiling.

"Yeah I do. Course I do..."

"Go on then, tell me what '69' is?" She asked the big Dane.

Denmark shuffled around and hummed and harred. "I ain't gonna tell a lady..." he said lamely.

Prussia raised an eyebrow at the word 'lady'. Latvia, he thought, was no lady.

Latvia was trying very hard not to laugh, "Do you want me to explain it to you?" she said softly.

Denmark looked across at her and actually sat up and put down his beer, "Would you, dude chick? Whenever I ask Ber he just tuts at me and Tino hits me."

Latvia sighed and started, slowly and using words of one syllable, to explain.

Denmark's mouth was agog.

Prussia went bright red and looked horrified, "Fucking 'ell. Do you have to give him sex ed? Den's only an innocent!"

Latvia doubted very much that Den was 'innocent' but was amazed, nevertheless, that the Danish Nation had got to his ripe old age of, what? Several centuries? Before finding out what number 69 represented.

"No way, man!" Denmark yelled in disbelief.

Latvia sighed, took out her pad and pen and proceeded to do a quick drawing.

Prussia leaned in for a look, "Jeez! That can't be right!"

Latvia smiled and passed it to Den.

"That guy looks like fat commie dude!" Prussia exclaimed, appalled.

"That's not anatomically correct!" Denmark held the paper one way and then the other.

Latvia nodded and smiled.

* * *

><p>Honeymoon Suite, Hotel Majestic 5 Star, Warsaw<p>

Poland kicked off his high heel shoes and rubbed his large feet. He shouldn't really wear high heels - they were hell on his bunions.

Lithuania followed him in with around six bags of shopping – all designer gear. "I don't think you should have bought all these clothes. I mean isn't it Latvia's money?" Lithuania asked, panting. He set the bags down and flopped down on the huge heart-shaped bed.

"It's commission, darling. Don't worry, her money's safe."

Lithuania put a hand to his head, "I'm going to ring home and see if everything's okay. I just hope Mr Russia's not back yet... maybe if I go home now I might just get back before he does?"

"Chill, Liet, stay with me a bit a longer. Braginski's probably wrecking some joint somewhere, killing some poor unfortunate dudes who've got in his way, kolkolling. Enjoy your hol with me."

Lithuania shook his head and picked up the telephone to ring 'home', but Pol but his finger on the hook and kept it there, "Aw Liet, stay with me..." he whined and turned his big green eyes on Lithuania.

Lithuania sighed there were only two other people he knew who could do such big puppy-dog eyes, weirdly – Russia and Latvia.

"Okay, but only another day and then we're coming clean to Raivis about what you've been doing and I want you to promise me you won't do this again... that photoshoot... I mean your picture will be in Vogue. Oh God."

"I know..." Pol grinned happily and cuddled up to Toris, "I love you, Toris. It's all for you, you know that... I just want to rescue you from the big bad wolf."

Lithuania wasn't sure about that but pressed the TV remote to switch the television on.

"Good idea, Liet, there might be a porn channel!" Pol said and crawled onto the Lithuanian's lap.

Lithuania gasped, and not because he had a cross-dressing Pole sat on his lap wearing stockings and suspenders (Pol's promise of wearing trousers had been broken) but because of the article now making headlines on the news.

"The auction for the lost Da Vinci painting – which has been confirmed by experts as authentic – will take place on Friday noon at Vienna Art Auction. It is expected that the painting should bring upwards of 50 million dollars. The Nations was painted in 1516 and is a unique piece of art..."

"... it shows human personifications of the major European powers at that time. The painting cannot be shown in public until the day of the auction..."

Lithuania's mouth fell open. Was he and Pol on it? Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth? They had been a major superpower... surely.

It was now difficult for Lithuania to see the screen as Poland covered his face with big sloppy kisses.

"Come on Liet, we can't waste a honeymoon suite! It'll be disappointed! This room was built for woohoo..."

"Pol! I think we should go to Vienna and help... it was you!" Lithuania suddenly caught on to everything. "That painting – you stole it from Austria and then sold it... the secret could be out because of you..."

Poland finally unsuckered himself from Liet's lips, "Oh that..."

"Yes, that... We have to go to Vienna and help them..."

"Arthur, Alfred and Roddie will have got it sorted by now... come on, Liet..."

But Poland was wrong, very wrong.

* * *

><p>Vilnius, Lithuania<p>

It was the last available room in the hotel. An Elvis impersonator conference was going on downstairs and Estonia, thinking he was in some weird drug-induced stupor, wearily put the key in the lock, the strains of 'Heartbreak Hotel', sung off-key, wafted up the corridor.

Russia growled, "I don't like it here," he said, his purple aura still shimmering, dried blood on his fists.

Estonia thought he saw the tail-end of a grubby overcoat go around the corner at the end of the corridor and rubbed his eyes. He'd seen that coat before. Cautiously he opened the door, expecting an explosion, a trap of some kind and then stepped back to allow the larger Arctic Nation to go first.

Russia strode in. "I think we should just drive straight through to Warsaw, then I might see little Raivis first thing tomorrow," he was saying, "I don't like it here, there's something wrong. All those Elvis's and wigs and dark glasses..." Russia continued, "Elvis is dead, isn't he, Esty?" and then proceeded to look around the room.

"Where's the bed?" Russia asked.

It was a reasonable assumption that a bedroom should have a bed.

Esty also looked around and then at the wall where the bed should be.

"It's a Murphy bed, Sir!" he said.

"Wut?"

Esty shook his head, he forgot that Russia didn't get out that much and pressed the button to lower the bed.

"A Mur..." he didn't finish the sentence as there was a crash and the bed, which should have lowered slowly to the floor crashed down on top of them both.

Outside in the corridor, Romano gave a little victory dance. "Hahah! Vodka bastard!"

His dance was short-lived, however, as a feminine but strong hand rested on his shoulder and he felt the cold metal of a gun butt in his left ear.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Romeo who left me in that coffee bar in Leningrad?" Major Bollockoff whispered very sinisterly as only a Russian can.

"Ooooh dammit! Pretty girl... you have come all thisa way? Justa to see me?" Romano was overcome with emotion, "Sophia!" he said finally remembering her 'name', spun around, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

* * *

><p>"Don't put it on vibrate!" Tino said.<p>

"Didn't."

"You must have done... oh no... where's the switch?"

"Jus' tryin' t' switch th' light on," Berwald answered.

Finland stepped quickly back off the big heart-shaped double bed that had now started vibrating. To say this motel was seedy was taking seedy to very low levels. He heard some very horrid rhythmic knocking from the room next door, the television didn't seem to show anything but porn movies and worst of all the hot-tub had a mirror above it.

The motel was situated at the side of the road just outside Vilnius and they'd staggered in as they'd driven all day and were exhausted. The owner had looked them up and down lewdly as they'd checked in but had stopped quickly when Berwald had given him a stern 'look' – a look that said he was going to rip someone's arms off.

They had seen no sign of the psychedelic VW campervan, of Prussia's awesome sanitary hygiene van, or of Sweden's stolen Volvo.

Berwald started to take the bed apart to try and fix the 'vibrating'. Surely a few turns with his screwdriver and that should do it?

Finland tried to distract himself from gazing at Sweden's taut, tight bottom in his workman jeans, and flicked through the channels. Having gone through sixty-nine channels (no doubt Denmark would find this hilariously funny) he found the news channel.

"Ber!"

Berwald looked up from the dismantled bed frame and raised an eyebrow.

"It says here that there's a lost Da Vinci painting of the Nations up for sale..."

"Nations?" Berwald grunted – rather sexily Finland thought.

"That's what they said... surely not? Who would..."

Sweden looked up, his hair mussed up, his shirt had come undone revealing a hard muscled chest.

Finland tried to think coherently, "Didn't Francis have Da Vinci stay with him...?"

Sweden nodded.

"You don't think...? He wouldn't, would he?" Finland tried to pull his attention away from his delectable husband, who was now bent right over the dismantled bed, his firm buttocks just a foot away from the Finnish man.

"The painting apparently shows the great Nation of France..." the reporter continued.

Finland laughed.

"...victorious on the battlefield over the bodies of his enemies... Austria, Britain, Denmark, Prussia, Sweden..."

The sound of his name made Sweden look up and he actually dropped his screwdriver.

There was a horrid gleam in his eyes, "Me?"

Finland nodded, "Said you were a conquered Nation," he said, but his eyes trailed down his husband's taut, tight stomach muscles and the enticing waistband of his trousers. After the stress of the past few days, Finland wouldn't mind conquering Sweden...

"France's dead," Sweden said shortly. He was nothing if not direct.

Finland, who thought Sweden was at his sexiest when in angry Viking mode, smiled.

"Has it stopped vibrating?" he asked Sweden.

Sweden nodded.

"How long before you put the bed back together?"

Sweden looked at the remains of the bed, frowned and then shrugged.

Finland grabbed his 'husband' and pulled him into an embrace and traced fingers down the Swede's hard six-pack, "Hmmm, we could always try the hot-tub?"

Sweden nodded again, picked up his 'wife' and carried him through. There followed lots of splashing, lots of 'ooohs' and lots of 'aaahs'.

The residents of the 'Pink Motel' were startled from their respective activities by the loud combined shouts of 'Kalmar Union'.

Author's Notes:

**Trying to shorten my chapters now – my beta reader says they're getting too long...**

**I know I said I wouldn't update all week, but... I'm trying to write the next chapter of A Day In the Life and that's going slow...**

**Reviews/PMs/Comments welcome. But don't ask me what 69 means...**

**Further chapters – a bank robbery goes wrong, chaos in Toys R Us, Lily and her new lover, Russia and fluffy pink handcuffs, Latvia ends up in a predicament, and some appearances from the 'retired' Nations. The further on the story the more fluff... oh and a character death... **


	22. You Oughta Know

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters – no characters were harmed during the making of this story.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourite (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): xxcattxx, .1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**Right, that was a long hiatus, but have just about finished all the remaining chapters – there are a lot of sub-plots to tie up and some dum dum der revelations to come out and I dithered about them... so here goes. **

Warnings: None!

Very late pm, Wednesday

Chapter 21 – You Oughta Know

"I wonder why that bed fell down, Esty?" Russia asked the Estonian.

Estonia shook his head. In fact his whole body was shaking – with cold. They were now back in the battered Volvo on their way to Warsaw.

The Murphy bed had crashed down on the two of them and Russia had burst his way out of it (rather like the Incredible Hulk but less green), pulling Estonia from the wreckage.

After checking his middle Baltic was okay, Russia had stormed out of the hotel bedroom, slammed downstairs, shoved aside several Elvis impersonators who had over-spilled from the Elvis convention and made his feelings known to the concierge on the front desk. This had included smashing the reception desk up, and then punching the manager out. When one of the Elvis impersonators had remonstrated with him, "Hey, man!" he'd said, Russia had punched him as well.

So here they were, with no windscreen and huge holes in the side of Sweden's car, it was a wonder the vehicle was moving at all.

Russia had decided that was it. He knew Latvia was on her way to Warsaw, or already there, and he ached, literally ached, to be with her. He couldn't wait for a flight – much as he loved flying and airports – he decided they would drive through the night to get to her.

* * *

><p>Vienna, Austria<p>

Belarus and Hungary returned from their trip to the doctors in, what the author can only call, very disturbing moods. Belarus immediately took to the extensive grounds and began her knife-throwing practice. This was usually enough to calm her down. However, it was now getting dark and although light was filtering out from Austria's mansion, it wasn't quite enough. She slammed a knife into the trunk of a tree and then stepped back, pulling a ribbon from her hair. She was pregnant. She'd thought as much, but the reality of it had thrown her.

At first, she'd felt almost exuberant and when she and Hungary had arrived at the Auction House to meet the male Nations, she'd been bursting to tell Arthur. After all, he was now back to 'normal' and not spouting Shakespeare or singing sea shanties and then... she'd felt her fragile and abused heart break as she'd seen him kiss Alfred. If she'd thought he was going to kiss anyone behind her back she'd thought it was going to be France... but Alfred...

She pulled the knife from the tree-trunk and wiped a tear from her eye. Did he even know she'd seen him? Did it matter? She gripped her knife and strode into the mansion. She was going to have it out with them, she decided, she and her baby was not going to be cast aside for some brash, loud American.

Inside the mansion, the chaos, the rubble and evidence of the building project underway mirrored the emotional turmoil felt by the occupants.

France, usually the most bubbly, optimistic, joyous Nation was sat in a corner with a bottle of wine looking extremely morose. "I have lost it... it is gone... oooh je suis ordinaire!" he lamented and hung his blond head sadly and sipped his wine.

Even his usually elegant attire and gorgeous hair appeared to have suffered from his 'loss' as his clothes seemed to just ... hang there. "Ah me! I have lost my superpowers!" he wailed.

Hungary threw a cushion at him and told him to 'shut the hell up'. She was trying desperately to think of a way to tell Austria that she was pregnant in such a way that he would not hit the proverbial ceiling. This had been unplanned. Granted, she'd drunk some of the pink baby potion bandied around weeks before at the last world's meeting, but she wasn't sure really if she'd taken it seriously. I mean, honestly, a potion that would guarantee the sex of a baby?

"Francis! Shut up! We are fed up of hearing of your problems... so what if your hair needs a wash?" England was saying, "We need to find a bloody way of getting that bloody painting that you had painted..."

"A wash? It needs a wash?" France held up a strand of his usually gorgeous locks. Once a burnished gold, his hair looked dull and had... split ends. France wailed, "My hair! It is no longer beautiful! It looks like yours, mon Angleterre..."

Hungary shoved past them both and stalked out of the room. She almost bowled Austria over and hesitated as he complained.

"I mean, honestly, Liz! Can't you at least apologise? No manners..." Austria shook his head at her. She stood rooted to the spot, trying to say something... anything.

'Go on, tell him... tell him,' she thought and then blurted out, "You can't see what's right in front of you, you big useless jerk..." she yelled at him.

Austria took a step back and then tutted, "I am fed up of people telling me I'm useless... I'm off to this concert in Vienna." He said and stomped out.

Hungary ran after him, "Go on then... go and listen to some dead guy. We'll sort this out... go and listen to your damn Mozart. You care more about that dead ponce than you do about me!" she shouted after him and slammed the door three times just for effect. At least it made her feel better.

* * *

><p>Austria headed out to his small Citroen and hesitated. He had no idea why on earth she'd shouted at him. He wondered whether he should go back and then shook his head and got in the car and turned the key. Really, he had no idea what he would do or say if he did.<p>

That was the problem, these days, he decided. No matter what he did, she would frown and tell him he was useless. A bunch of red roses, a kiss, a short composition on the piano would be all it took at one time to get her smiling, dancing and singing. But that was... what? Well over sixty years ago now.

Since their marriage had ended (Austria still missed those days – the happiest 51 years of 1000 year existence) and since the War had ended they'd seen each other sporadically or as much as being on opposite sides of the Iron Curtain had allowed. But, for Austria, it was never enough. He sighed as he drove the small Citroen to the Opera House, there might as well be a huge steel curtain between them, he thought, because those days were long gone.

* * *

><p>Hungary threw herself back into the mansion and took herself off to the rear of the house and the gardens where she found Belarus sitting on the garden swing-seat. Hungary held her breath – it was an old wooden swing meant for two – and she and Austria had spent many a warm summer evening holding hands and gazing at the stars – but this wasn't a warm summer evening. She shivered and plonked herself next to the Slavic Nation.<p>

"You okay?" she asked Belarus gently.

Belarus spun a knife in her hand, threw it into the air and caught it expertly and then secreted it somewhere in her dress.

Hungary watched with wide eyes. She had always admired the Belorussian – not for her pursuit of Russia – although she'd been impressed that the biggest, scariest Nation was afraid of this small, slender girl. She admired Belarus because she'd always stayed in shape and that Natalya looked as if she could quite easily fight a war at the drop of a hat. (Elizaveta felt she'd let herself go quite a bit – she hadn't kept up her sword skills and hadn't practiced with a gun or a knife for years.)

"Nyet," Belarus whispered, "Arthur and Alfred... I hate them."

Hungary shook her head, "Perhaps we caught them... oh I don't know... maybe it wasn't what it looked like?" she said. But she didn't sound confident in this.

"I mean... who would have thought that Arthur is gay... has these tendencies?" Natalya said, her voice sounding more hopeful.

Hungary almost laughed out loud at this, but then composed her face hurriedly. 'Yeah, who'd have thought?'

"I'll wait a bit until I tell Arthur... I don't know... bloody men," she finally concluded. Belarus sighed, still twirling the knife in her hand contemplatively, "So, have you told Austria?" she asked.

"Austria?"

"About the baby."

"Erm, well..." Hungary swallowed, "It's not that simple."

"It is Austria's isn't it?" Belarus asked and then she turned to the other Nation and her eyes widened, "Oh Elizaveta! You haven't? You didn't?"

"No, Natalya, it's Roddie's," she sighed heavily, remembering their 'reunion' in a narrow hospital bed in Vienna General Hospital. "But it's complicated. It always bloody is."

"But why is it complicated? I mean you two are living together. You used to be married...?" Belarus sighed - with a hint of jealousy. It's what she'd always wanted – to be happily married – once upon a time to her older brother and now to Arthur – have a happy home, roses around the door and lots of children.

"I know... it was lovely and we were happy. But it never lasts, does it?"

"Why not?"

"We just get on each other's nerves. He's so bloody mean. I mean he reuses tea-bags!"

"Hmmm, Arthur does that sometimes. I think it's endearing..." Belarus sighed dreamily.

Hungary just grunted. "I mean I've known the guy centuries and he never changes. All he thinks about is himself, his money and his bloody music."

"So why have you stayed with him so long? You must have loved him?"

"I have, I do, and he's always been there for me," Hungary paused and then said in a rush, "There have been other men."

"Oooooh..." Belarus stopped twirling her knife and pricked up her ears. Not quite a gossip in the same league as Poland and her sister, she was still intrigued. "Who? Not Francis?"

"Oh God, no. I'm not that silly... Gil..."

Belarus wrinkled her nose as if someone had placed a cow-pat under it, "I hate him. He's a complete..." The rest of Belarus' sentence was a mish-mash of angry Russian/Belorussian.

"Well, it was fun for a while. But there's only so many times a drinking competition can be funny. And his idea of romance was watching the football in bed. And he used to shout 'Goal!' or 'Awesome!' when we... you know..." Hungary shuddered as she remembered how long the Prussian would spend looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, the infantile jokes about her 'chest muscles' and the 'romantic evenings in' throwing pizza at the ceiling to see how much would stick. She wasn't a sophisticated lady by any stretch of the imagination but neither was she a complete hooligan like him.

"You shouldn't do anything in bed other than..." Belarus stopped and smiled, "Arthur and I never watched football in bed..." she said with a leer.

Hungary ignored this, "... and he never gave me flowers like Roddy did or sing to me like Roddy did. Well, actually he did sing but they were horrid Prussian drinking songs about invading..."

Belarus snarled, she could imagine what country Gilbert would be singing about invading, "Gilbert's a knobhead," Belarus said confidently and imitated disembowelling said Prussian in a most lurid manner.

Hungary raised an eyebrow. "And his stupid friends – that Bad Touch Trio and the stupid Awesome Trio... he said because I was a girl I couldn't join!"

"Why would you want to?" Belarus asked and threw a knife at a nearby tree, imagining Gilbert's annoying face in the centre. She scored a 'bullseye'.

"I could out-drink all of them. And then he'd call me dude girly."

"It's a good job that baby's Austria's then, isn't it?" Belarus concluded and pulled out another knife.

Hungary wondered where on earth Belarus kept them (her knives that is), "Yes, but he's bloody useless. He doesn't want kids. He keeps banging on about how old he and he wants to retire and all that. He's like an old man."

"But you've been together for what... centuries? Haven't you had children before?" Belarus asked, totally puzzled. She had aimed, before she'd seen Arthur canoodling with Alfred, to have at least four children with Arthur and she certainly did not intend for it to take 500 years.

"Well... yes..." Hungary sighed.

"Oooh?" Belarus was intrigued. "Have I met them? What's their name?"

Hungary shook her head, "I'm sorry, Natalya, I can't talk about it... it was a long time ago," Hungary's eyes suddenly filled up.

It took a lot to make Hungary cry – even the events of the revolution of 1956 had failed to make her tear up. She'd stood with the rebels and faced the might of the Red Army and had spat the KGB in the eye. She'd been dragged in to see Russia and had expected severe punishment but she'd refused even then to show any remorse or any sign of weakness. (That meeting with Russia should be left to another story.) But now, talking about her and Austria's child, she could feel long held-back tears welling up. Why was she thinking about _her _now?

"Anyway, that just proves it. Austria's a rubbish dad," she said conclusively.

"Why?" Belarus was really intrigued now. Who was this mysterious kid, anyway? Belarus had no children. No man had hung around long enough. Her sister however had had loads of children. Vanya, she knew had fathered at least two she could think of (she didn't know yet of the third). But in her head, parenthood was a special bond between parent and child, holy, beautiful and having had that particular 'timebomb' ticking for a few hundred years, she couldn't wait to be a mother so she imbued it with flowers and hearts and cute little giggling, pink-cheeked babies.

"Austria gave her away..." Hungary said and suddenly sobbed and then flung herself into Belarus' arms.

* * *

><p>Lithuanian-Polish Border<p>

Very late pm

Romano was driving his Avis car, a rare smile on his face. He'd got rid of his moustache, dark glasses and dodgy mackintosh (various people had thought he looked like a flasher) and had a gun held to his head. But he was happy. The reason for his happiness was the grim, efficient looking girl holding the gun. Romano was a sucker for a pretty girl, whether she held a gun to his head or not. He was convinced that he could talk a girl out of anything. Nobody could resist Italian charm, he thought.

Miss Bollockoff had succumbed for a moment to the Italian charm until her strict KGB training had taken over. She'd then taken her gun and, when Russia and Estonia had come charging out of the room (or should one say Russia had charged out, Estonia – rubbing his head – following) to kick some Elvis impersonator arse, she'd followed, forcing Romano in front of her.

The fact that this small, rather cute Italian was supposed to be a ruthless assassin had actually made her laugh out loud. It was hilarious really. Particularly, when she realised his target was her Nation. She attempted to tell him that unless he had a nuclear warhead his mission was doomed to failure.

However, when she'd heard Russia's ranting about 'rescuing' Latvia, she decided she would allow him to retrieve Latvia – he would be easier to handle then, plus, she thought, the small Baltic Nation could be used as leverage to ensure his compliance and then she could bring both Russia and his Baltics back with her resulting, she hoped, in instant promotion.

The little incompetent assassin, she decided, she would use as driver and extra pair of hands. He was clearly mentally incapable and could easily be manipulated by a smile and if that didn't work, a gun to the head.

* * *

><p>Vienna, Austria<p>

England had no idea why Belarus would not talk to him. He tried to give her a cuddle and a hug, but she shoved him out of the way, waved a knife at him most alarmingly and then, along with Hungary – who glared at him as if he'd just run over someone's Grandma – ran to the caravan, telling him in no uncertain terms 'he would be sleeping on the couch and don't even think of coming into the caravan tonight'. The girls had then slammed the door shut and locked it. No doubt to discuss the extent of 'bastardness' their respective lovers had descended to.

England was puzzled to say the least. He was stuck in what could only be described as a building yard – the mansion having barely any habitable rooms. America had commandeered Austria's dining table – which still bore the marks of the fire – and had a plethora of action figures on it. The American Hero told him he was making a plan for the bank heist they would have to commit to get the painting back. But Arthur was not buying this. "If you're playing soldiers just admit it," he told Alfred.

Actually, he did wonder why the Luke Skywalker figure was on top of the Darth Vader figure but decided to hold his tongue.

He ignored Francis who was laid on a sofa babbling about 'losing my style, my class, my elegance, my honhonhons...' and went down into Austria's kitchen and proceeded to do what he always did when stressed... he baked.

**Author's Notes:**

**Pink baby potion – this is a nod to Baltics Secrets – Hungary had found a magic potion that when given to the drinker would ensure that the next baby born to that person would be a girl. She had a mad idea that if each of the female nations had a baby girl then they could ensure that the next generation of nations would all be female and women could take over the world – ensuring peace... or something like that.**

**Austria Hungary marriage – dual monarchy that lasted 51 years which was dissolved in 1918. As I said before in my head canon the Nations must have had kids at some point – either with each other or with humans. I don't subscribe to centuries old virgins and sooner or later nature finds a way – contraception wasn't that effective or efficient just 50 years ago...so in my head AustriaxHungary would have produced offspring. You'll have to wait to find out the identity of the child...**

**1956 – Hungarian revolution – a nationwide revolt against the Soviet-backed Hungarian government. The government fell and at first it looked as if the anti-Soviet rebels had won, however, a massive Soviet force invaded and re-took the country – 2,500 Hungarians were killed and a pro-Soviet government was re-installed. Please note Hungary was never part of the Soviet Union (that would mean she would be a soviet socialist republic), but her government was Soviet-backed and heavily influenced by the communist regime. 200,000 Hungarians refugees fled – over the border to Austria (Austria opened their borders temporarily to let them in) – and I think that on its own would make an awesome fanfic (unless someone's already done it).**

**Next Chapter: An evening at the opera and a Nation goes streaking (and its not France)**


	23. Douce France

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters – I only borrowed them and put them back after the story was completed.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourite (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): Willow the collie, xxcatxx, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: bit of Austrian angst and then crack... just... crack (naked Germany)**

Very late pm, Wednesday

Chapter 22 – Douce France

State Opera House, Vienna

Austria leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Bliss... finally he was in his favourite place (apart from in his own drawing room with his piano that is) – the State Opera House - listening to Chopin Piano Concerto No. 1. He had finally escaped from those buffoons. He rubbed his temples and revelled in the beautiful notes floating up to the royal box where he was sat. He had a season ticket for the royal box – sharing it sometimes with the President and other members of the Austrian Government, but for once, it was empty save for him.

He wondered what was wrong with Hungary and wished she was beside him as she used to be so many years before – in her beautiful evening gown, a fan fluttering at her face, pearls and diamonds at her throat. He had loved having her at his side, the envious looks from the other men – how he, the most boring person on the planet had the most beautiful woman at his side. In Austria's head, Hungary could look beautiful dressed in a sack-cloth, she didn't need gowns or jewels. He loved her just as much when she dressed in men's clothes and riding her horse around the grounds of the mansion. Austria sighed again, he had no idea how to make things right with her. Perhaps, it was really over? But he dreaded to think what his life would be like without her. Music always helped, it had helped before but he didn't really want to go back to playing the piano 16 hours a day to mend his broken heart.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, perhaps she'd come to join him? Perhaps that small, delicate hand was hers and she would sit beside him, take his hand in hers and fall asleep and snore like she used to... he looked up and saw Arthur and Alfred.

"Dude! What's this poncy stuff?"

Austria brushed away a tear, hoping these crass buffoons hadn't spotted it, "This 'poncy' stuff as you call it is Chopin," he said haughtily. His prudish, uptight manner came back to the fore.

"Springsteen rocks man!"

Arthur shook his head, removing his 'small, delicate' hand from Austria's shoulder, "I apologise. He insisted on coming here and telling you the plans for tomorrow..."

"Dudes we only have tomorrow to get that painting, man," America all but yelled.

Several shushes were heard from agitated members of the audience.

Austria cringed and all but crawled under his seat. "Keep your voice down, please... Can't we discuss this later?"

"Dude, this music's way too quiet!" America yelled.

There was a slight pause in the music as the conductor turned and glared at the Nations.

Austria gave a very shaky, apologetic smile.

"Alfred, sit down and shut up," Arthur said, pulling the American down onto a seat as if he were a naughty child.

"Do you have any popcorn?" America managed to whisper.

"No, shut up," Arthur whispered back.

"Why are you two here? Can't we discuss this tomorrow?" Austria asked again, his voice rising a little and gaining some angry shushes.

"What about soda?" America whispered.

"I don't have any soda. You'll have to do without your beloved Pepsi rubbish. Besides, it rots your teeth."

America huffed and crossed his arms like an angry child.

"I repeat..." Austria rubbed his temples, "Why are we discussing this here?"

"Italy and Germany have gone doolally," Arthur said in a conspiratorial manner.

"What?"

"Yes, I know. Little Feliciano started strutting around and shouting and Germany... honestly, we thought we'd get out of there."

"No, I mean, what does 'doolally' mean?" Austria asked, his voice rising again.

Somebody shushed him, louder this time.

"Bananas, crazy as a bat, mad as a fish, loopy..." Arthur twirled a finger at his temple.

"Italy? Really? He doesn't have the energy!" Austria exclaimed.

"Dude went mental, man. He kicked us out. Started goose-stepping around the joint. Germany's acting weird and is prancing around like a big ponce." Alfred said and almost jumped up to physically demonstrate before he was shoved back down in his seat by England.

"What about France?"

"Yes, he was acting like France..."

"No, I mean what about France?"

"Well, he's still crying in a corner because he has split ends or something stupid," England explained. Actually, when he thought about it, Italy and Germany only kind of swapped personalities after eating his scones...

"Are the girls alright?" Austria whispered, concerned. None of this sounded right to him.

"They're holed up in that shitty caravan of yours, man. Besides who'd kick them out?" Alfred pointed out the obvious.

"So, here we are..." Arthur said, unnecessarily, "... and Alfred wanted to get the plans finalised for tomorrow's bank job..." he raised an eyebrow at Austria as if to say 'this is going to end in disaster'.

"We need a diversion, the girls will do that..." America said confidently.

"Wait a minute... I don't think..." Austria whispered. He really didn't want to get involved with a bank robbery, but he didn't see how he was to avoid it. He also didn't think getting Belarus and Hungary involved was a good idea also.

"... and we need disguises..." America continued, his face shining with excitement.

"...but suppose we get caught..." Austria whispered.

"Hell yeah, man! We're going to wear masks, man. Nobody will know it's us!" America all but yelled.

"Keep your voice down!" Austria yelled at him and was earned by several shushes.

"Oh this is just too much!" Austria yelled and stood up and glared at the audience, the music stopped, the last notes dying away, "Stop shushing me... by your shushing you are interrupting the music more than these two fools..."

"Hey!" America was outraged.

England looked around him to see if Austria meant _him_ _and _America... surely not?

"I paid good money for this box... and if anyone shushes me one more time I will personally shove this programme down their windpipe," Austria all but screeched.

England shook his head. This is what happens, he thought, when Nations were pushed to the edge.

"Specs dude is having a moment, eh Arty dude?" America finally whispered, leaning his head to England.

They were bodily thrown from the venue by six burly security guards.

"You can't do this to me, I'm American!" America yelled.

"Well! I've never been so insulted in all my long life..." Austria complained, dusting down his jacket.

England shook his head. He actually had been insulted like that – many times in fact - he decided that Austria must go around with ear-plugs in and a blindfold on.

"Come on, chappies, let's get back and see what's happened back at the ranch..." England tried to steer America and Austria away.

"Humph, they will be getting my dry-cleaning bill," Austria fumed.

"Too right, dude. If I had my Jedi lightsabre with me, they'd be toast."

"Or not," Arthur muttered.

* * *

><p>Back at the mansion it was almost midnight and things were clearly not right. Not right at all.<p>

For a start, as the three Nations walked in they were met by a sobbing.

"Francis?" Arthur exclaimed. He ran up to the miserable figure hunched in a corner. He was not the great France everyone knew and loved... no strike that... avoided. His usual elegant attire was crumpled and not in a sexy way, his usual blond hair just... hung in a very ordinary, boring, unwashed way as if it had never seen a comb in its life, France's usual seductive blue eyes were red-rimmed and crying. The God of Sex looked like he'd just slept in a skip.

England swung between a feeling of utter joy at his oldest rival and pity for the once great seducer reduced to snivelling in a corner. Granted, it was not the first time England had seen France snivelling in a corner, but it was the first time he'd seen Francis do it in such an un-sexy manner.

Arthur tried the ultimate test and knelt down by the Frenchman and put an arm around him – flinching, expecting a Gallic wandering hand down the front of his pants at any moment. It didn't happen. Francis sobbed, "Oh Angleterre! I have lost eet!" he wailed.

Flipping heck, he even sounded like a whiny, miserable puny pre-pubescent teenager... usually Francis' tears made everyone want to hug him.

"Jeez, dude... what happened to him?" America asked, appalled and set off through the mansion without waiting to find out.

Arthur stood up, "What did you lose, Francis?" he asked, but he already knew the answer as he looked at the rather large pimple sprouting on Francis' once elegant nose.

"Mon sex appeal!" Francis sobbed into his handkerchief and blew his nose rather loudly.

"Arthur! Help! You need to come in here!" America shouted from somewhere down the hallway.

Austria stepped over the prone body of the sex god, shaking his head, "Serves him right, pervert... I have no sympathy. Do you know he was once watching me and Ludwig through a window and I tied him to a chair to punish him and he liked it...?" Austria recounted to England, who looked back at France with a sad look.

Francis wailed again... "Even ze thought of that does nothing for me... I am no longer ze Nation of L'amour."

"Alfred... what on earth?" Arthur followed the sound of America's shouts and stepped into Austria's fire-damaged library.

A rifle with a Swissman on the other end of it was pointing at him, "Explain to me, Englishman, why Germany is running around naked in the grounds and Italy has just Heil Hitlered me?"

"What the bloody hell?" Arthur spluttered.

Austria raised an eyebrow and very carefully pushed the stub of the rifle away, "I don't recall you being invited here, Switzerland," he said carefully.

"Hmmmph, obviously not. If I knew all these... reprobates were here, I would not have come..." Vash answered, but lowered his rifle.

"I have no bloody idea why Germany is... what?" England happened to glance out of the window and saw the German Nation prancing past in all his naked glory, his white bare arse gleaming in the moonlight.

"Haha dude Germany streaking, man! Oh this is just killing me!" America yelled.

"And ... Italy is... oh Hell's bells!" the last exclamation was made as Italy also went past the window, very un-Italy-like, the small Italian's eyes were wide open, his arm stuck in a 'Hitler' salute and was he... no, he couldn't be... goose-stepping?

Francis slouched into the doorway, drew on a cigarette and coughed like an old man, "Zay ate your blue scones, Angleterre..." he said. His usual sexy voice sounded like a teenage boys that hadn't broken yet.

England sighed heavily, why did everyone blame his baking? He went down to the kitchens, followed by Austria, Switzerland (the two Nations bickering the whole way) and America. Sure enough, two scones were missing from the plate...

He picked one of the remaining scones up. They hadn't been blue when he'd taken them from the oven...

Switzerland raised his rifle and pointed it at England's face, "Put down the scone and step away from the table..."

"Honestly, Switzerland... you're being ridiculous..." Austria began and shut up quickly as the rifle swung around to point at him.

"Am I? Am I really? I blame Mr England for what's happened to my Lily..." the Swissman said.

"What? What's happened to Miss Lily?" Austria asked, concerned.

"Oh God, this is just killing me... you guys are so funny," Alfred laughed, "Sweden-dude and his girly gun and Arthur's scones... dude... they're always blue... or green... once they were purple..."

"Shut up," England hissed as Switzerland took the safety catch off his rifle and aimed it at America. The Swissman did look seriously pissed. In fact, the last time England had seen him look this annoyed was when he'd dropped that Swiss franc in a meeting and Russia had picked it up...

"Is there a problem? Oh, bruder, honestly... you need to lighten up... hey guys! How's it hanging?" this voice belonged to Liechtenstein, but not the Liechtenstein they all knew and loved and kept away from because they were all terrified of her big brother.

"In the name of cricket, what happened?" England was the first to speak. Everyone, even America was speechless.

"Well may you ask..." Switzerland said and rubbed a hand over his face.

Little Miss Lily (as most of the Nations affectionately called the small female Nation) was dressed in a black leather mini-skirt, ripped fishnet stockings, high heel boots (that she still could barely walk in), her usual blond hair which was normally tied up in a cute ribbon was dyed a horrid pink and she had several piercings in both ears (actually, they were magnetic ones and Lily kept losing them).

"Girl chick rocks out!" America yelled and was promptly batted around the head by England.

"Do you want to die?" England hissed as he saw how the land lay.

Austria, weirdly, was outraged, "Why on earth is she dressed like that? You're a fine big bruder... she looks like a... a..." Austria almost had a heart attack.

"She says she's got a new lover... and... oh... I don't know..."

Lily smiled softly, although her feet were killing her, she hoped to God she could conclude this ridiculous charade very soon. "Hmm, is this a world meeting?" she asked.

"Nein, it's not. Why are you dressed like that? You're a lady!" Austria almost shouted.

Switzerland shook his head, "I tried to tell her..."

"Yes, he did... all the way from Bern..." Lily said.

"I need your help, Austria," Switzerland said, "You've got more experience with the younger Nations than I have... I mean..."

England turned to look at France, concerned. No sexual innuendos, no honhonhons, no mentions of Lily's attire? Clearly, the French Nation was not himself.

France just shook his head sadly and shuffled out, "I don't know what to say!"

"Well, I suppose... you would never have found Feliciano dressing like that in my house... or Hungary..." Austria pointed out, unhelpfully.

"So, this is all that's here? No more male Nations are here?" Lily asked.

"No, just us... Miss Lily, why are you dressed like that?" England asked gently.

"Well, seeing as _he_," here, Lily nodded her head curtly at Switzerland, "doesn't think Iceland is good enough as a husband for me..."

"Iceland is a respectable young man and perfectly nice..." Austria interjected.

"What has it got to do with you?" Switzerland said, looming up to his neighbour.

Lily sighed and gratefully sat down and took off her shoes, rubbing her aching feet, "I've got myself someone else... another lover... a real man... who even _he..." _(she indicated Switzerland again) "... can't bully."

Switzerland cocked his rifle again. "And when I find out who it is, he's going to have a face full of bullets."

"Hola!" came a cheery call from the doorway. "Do you know, signores, that Signore Germany is running around outside with no clothes on?"

**Author's Notes:**

**Doolally – as Arthur explains doolally is an English slang term that means crazy**

**Also would like to thank ShrapnelGirl who suggested personality swaps...**

**Next chapter: we find out who has got France's 'superpower' and a take a visit to Poland's house...**


	24. Sex Bomb

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters – I just borrowed them for the purposes of this story, they were returned dry-cleaned and back in their original packaging (apart from France who insisted on sharing his packaging with England).**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): Becky999, Scarheart of Darkclan, Willow the collie, xxcatxx,.me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

Warnings: more personality swaps

Chapter 23 – Sex Bomb

Thursday AM

Warsaw, Poland

Russia stepped out of the Volvo, slammed the door shut and surveyed his surroundings. It was early morning in Warsaw and he could smell fresh bread. He actually liked Warsaw and would never admit it, but had a great deal of respect for the Poles. The events of 1944 still left him with a lump in his throat. If ever there had been a time when he felt like battering his generals on the head with something big and blunt that had been it.

"Fucking Stalin..." Russia muttered, his purple aura shimmering briefly.

Estonia staggered out of the remains of Sweden's car, "What was that?" he asked, rubbing his head. He carefully unwrapped the scarf from around his face and checked he didn't have frost-bite.

"Nothing," Russia mumbled and strode off to a nearby bakery to buy breakfast. He remembered, quickly, to use Polish. Russian was not a language that was welcome here, he recalled in time.

Estonia shook his head, honestly he never knew what was going through his boss' head and was grateful sometimes that he didn't.

There was a bang and a crash making the Estonian jump. He turned back and watched with incredulity and some dismay as Sweden's Volvo collapsed – its tyres burst and the engine fell out with a loud clunk.

Russia rushed out of the bakery, his arms full of cake, bread and pastries, "My car!" he exclaimed.

Estonia shook his head and said softly, but with an air of trepidation, "Mr Sweden's car..."

"Oh, da, it was!" Russia sighed heavily, "Never mind... a little paint job and it will be fine when we give it back to him."

Estonia looked at his boss. He'd considered the possibility many times in the decades he'd lived with Russia that the man was insane, but this really concluded it. There was no way that a 'paint job' could make Berwald's prized Volvo look anything other than it was – fit for the crusher.

What worried Estonia was that, when they did return the 'car' to Berwald, he and Russia would be in a crusher.

Parked right behind the unfortunate car was a VW Campervan with a psychedelic paintjob. Russia leaned against it and started eating a pastry, contemplating the car. "I suppose if we pump the tyres back up?" he asked Estonia.

Estonia shook his head, "What about the engine? It fell out..."

Russia shrugged and banged on the side of the campervan, "Excuse me, is anybody in there?" he yelled. (He was sure he'd heard movement within.)

Russia turned back to Estonia, "Maybe the nice people in this," here he indicated the motorhome he leant on, "can give us a lift?"

Estonia frowned, "Or get a taxi?" He was about to add to this when a young, tall, blond-haired man jumped out of the back of the campervan, a shovel in his hand.

"Sir, I think..." Estonia pointed at the young man. Where had he seen him before?

But he didn't get to finish his sentence as the young man took one look at Russia, his blue eyes went wide with shock and jumped back in the van. There was a yell of "Go go go," from inside and the van, inexplicably, sped off down the road.

Russia, who had extended an arm to lean against the vehicle again, promptly lost his balance and fell over.

Russia stood up, completely confused. He was sure there'd been a van there a moment ago. He shook his head. "Da, a taxi, good idea, Esty," he said and strode down the road looking for one.

Estonia racked his brains. That young man... where had he seen him before? And why did he run when he saw Russia? Granted, it was the actions of a sane person, he, Estonia, would run if he saw Russia. But usually people didn't run when they saw Russia unless he was in full kolkol mode. The young man had looked at Russia and had recognised the big Arctic Nation, how could this be?

* * *

><p>Also in Warsaw<p>

The pink Ferrari sped through the city, Pol at the wheel, Lithuania, his hair unrestricted by its usual elastic band, flowing behind him.

"Can't we put the roof back up, Pol?" he asked – for the fortieth time in two days.

Poland shook his blond head, pulled on his sunglasses, "We'll just nip home, sweetie, collect my exit visas and we'll shoot off to Vienna... If this painting's really going for 50 mill I want some more money from that creepy guy I sold it to... I mean, honestly, sweetie... I only got ten thousand for it!"

"It wasn't yours to sell, Pol!" Lithuania said, appalled.

"Creepy Cedric Cameron... like, what a thief..." Pol said, not listening.

* * *

><p>"Do svidaniya!" Russia called to the retreating taxi and then turned, his feet crunching on the gravel driveway.<p>

Estonia shook his head. He really wished this day was over, and it had barely started. He had a very bad feeling about today. He really hoped Latvia was in this house and if she wasn't...

"Kolkolkolkolkolkol!"

... there was going to be trouble.

"Problem, Sir?" Estonia asked as Russia slammed his faucet pipe against the hard wooden door of Poland's house.

"Nobody is in," Russia said, rather unnecessarily.

The doorbell, that Russia had pushed several times and then punched as it played "Its Raining Men" in a horrible canned, out of tune manner, was hanging on by a solitary wire.

"We should go..." Estonia muttered, but was ignored. Russia kicked the door, which, rather than face the wrath of the Arctic nation, promptly swung open.

Russia strode into the hallway which had seemingly normal decor – wooden flooring and a vase of flowers in an alcove. It was only when he ventured further in that Russia knew that he hadn't made a mistake and he was truly in the Polish Nation's abode.

The lounge was decorated in lilac, with a fluffy lilac rug and a pink leather sofa and chairs. Russia cringed, surely lilac and pink don't go together? He didn't like to say anything to Estonia because surely it wasn't manly to mention if colours went together or not.

Estonia sat down on the pink monstrosity of the sofa, shuffling his bottom a little on the fake zebra throw. Russia snarled at the painting above the fireplace – a huge canvas depicting the Union of Lublin and was about to shove his fist into it when Estonia coughed politely and said, "Erm, Sir... I think Latvia won't be happy if she finds that you've been angry and started destroying things..." he took another deep breath as he saw Russia hesitate, frowning, "... it frightens her, Sir." he said quietly and crossed his fingers.

He'd heard enough about Russia's feelings for the smallest Baltic these last few days to realise that she could be used as a bargaining chip or a way to calm Russia down. It worked. Russia grunted, thought about Estonia's words and backed off.

"Why don't you sit down, Sir, until Latvia gets here?" Estonia again, crossed his fingers and hoped it would be soon.

Russia looked around the small living room, the retro 1960s style television, the paintings of ponies, the pink furniture, even the lilac rug repelled him and he strode off to the kitchen. Poland should have some vodka, he thought as he rummaged in Poland's (pink) fridge.

"Toris will always belong to me..." Russia muttered to himself as he raided Poland's fridge, wincing at the nail varnish he found there, but finding some very good Polish vodka and lots of chocolate.

* * *

><p>Vienna<p>

After a very disturbed (or disturbing, depending on the point of view), night, the occupants of Austria's mansion awoke to the sound of birdsong and beautiful sunshine and... a loud Italian shouting "Ein, zwei, ein, zwei... march, march..."

"What in the name of my aunt Josephine is he bloody doing?" England asked, sticking his un-combed head out of the window at the sight that met him.

Italy, dressed in a Luftwaffe uniform was shouting orders at Germany – who was dressed still in hippy clothes but was doltishly trying to march... and failing.

"Eet's very strange..." Spain concluded; a sleepy, puzzled look on his face. He then snuggled back down on the sagging airbed and covered himself with the musty blanket. He had not had his customary fourteen hours sleep and was not accustomed to being woken by Italians counting - shouting for breakfast and calling him a 'tomato bastard', yes, but counting, no.

"Well, that's bloody nice isn't it? Bloody Germany was good at bloody marching back in the bloody War," England said ruefully and rubbed the stubble on his chin as he watched Germany's inept strolling after the goose-stepping Italian. At least the German had his clothes on this morning.

Arthur gave a crumpled body a nudge with his foot, "Hey, Alfred, you slacker, get up you lazy sack..." he said, "If I'm up, so are you."

He glanced over at the body in the opposite corner of the room, covered head to toe in a plaid throw (further evidence of the covered Nation's descent into style hell) and awaited the usual sexual innuendo riposte. None came. This was more serious than he thought. Last night, sharing a room, albeit a room with other Nations, with Francis, had been the ultimate test. But Arthur had woken that morning with no wandering hands down his pants nor finding his underclothes in a state of disarray.

Thinking of hands down pants, he hoped whatever had caused Belarus to ignore him yesterday had just been a case of 'girly hormones'.

"Dude, I'm up... let's get this show on the road, you up for this, Austrialasia?" America yelled, gaining a groan from Spain – only the fluffy brown head could be seen of the Spanish Nation.

It was testament to how tired and fed up Austria was, as he didn't even comment on America's mispronouncing his name.

"I got no sleep last night," Roderich grumbled as he stumbled out of the room, re-arranging his normally elegant pants and jacket, his hair stuck up and like Arthur, stubble shadowing his chin. He, like Arthur, wanted nothing more than to find out what it was that had caused the female Nations to leave them out in the cold.

After pounding on the caravan door the previous evening and being told to 'beat it' or risk 'disembowelling with a cake slicer' he'd took himself off and shared a very uncomfortable evening being elbowed repeatedly in the face whilst sharing a flat airbed with America. It was a far cry from his gorgeous four-poster bed (which had been smoke-damaged) and the lovely curvaceous figure of his ex-wife.

To add to his grievances, the builders had arrived and had taken over the mansion kitchen.

The kitchen had been severely fire-damaged but had been one of the first rooms to be re-built and renovated – Austria loved to bake. But now, as Austria attempted to switch on the kettle and make himself and England a much-needed cup of tea he was accosted by cries of "Hey Woderwick! Where's your lovely wife?"

"Who are these scoundrels?" England asked, utterly appalled.

"The builders," Austria explained, "Just ignore them, that's what I do... really..."

"Hahaha! Who's your gay mate?" one of them asked.

"Is that why Liz has shut herself in her caravan?" one of the builders asked, spraying remnants of a bacon sandwich on the floor as he spoke.

Austria ignored him, pulling on 1000 years of Hapsburg dignity. The fact was that the truth was too painful.

England was not prepared to be called 'gay' by a builder – a German builder no less.

"You impertinent little shit..." England said, picked up the nearest weapon to hand, one of his own blue scones and threw it at the man's head.

England was not usually a good aim, but this missile hit its target and the man went down with a thunk.

Austria turned to England, "Danke, England..."

"Right, when you two girlies have finished discussing your knitting, let's get this show on the road!" America yelled.

"I'm going nowhere until I've had my cup of tea and spoken to Natalya," England said.

"I'm the same... only I need to talk to Liz," Austria said, for once in his long life agreeing with England.

"It's just like 1745 again, isn't it?" England said.

"Hmmm..." Austria preferred not to think about that, with allies like him, he thought, who needs enemies.

"Never mind all that. We're off to Toys R Us!" America yelled.

"I wish you wouldn't yell like that first thing in the morning..." England said, stepping over the still unconscious German builder and procuring a frying pan and some bacon to start breakfast, "... It's not very gentlemanly... wait, what? Toys R Us? What - in the name of Wellington - for?"

"I don't know what it's got to do with boots, man, but for the disguises, dude! We need disguises for this bank job."

Austria and England both shuddered. Neither felt they had the requisite personalities to commit a bank robbery, whether they were dressed as superheroes or not.

* * *

><p>Warsaw<p>

"I just love this car, Liet. I probably love this car more than anything in the entire world... apart from you of course, my sweet Liet," Poland said, smoothing down his blond hair as he stepped out of his beloved Ferrari.

"Yes, okay, Pol. Can we just get on with this? Get those visas, we'll take the next flight to Vienna, try to sort out this awful mess. You can apologise for letting this painting become almost public property and then I can get home, hopefully before Mr Russia... aaaargh!" the scream Lithuania emitted was not due to his hair which was stuck on end (riding at 60 mph in an open-top car can do things to a guy's hairstyle) nor was it due to the state of Pol's doorbell that had been 'Russified', it was more the sight of the 6 foot two inch Russian stood on the doorstep glaring at them.

"You two..." Russia growled.

"Braginski! You broke my doorbell..." Pol wailed and was lifted by his neck and frogmarched into the house.

"Where is my Latvia and why are you here, Toris? Why were you on the television? Why are you pretending to be her? And why are you pretending to me, Toris?"

"Woooo, wait a minute, sweetie," Pol said, finally freeing himself from Russia's iron grip, "Too many questions, sweetie." (He knew Russia hated being called sweetie.)

"Pretending to be you, Sir?" Toris was baffled.

Russia spun around and pinned him to the wall, "Answer me... why are you poncing around Eastern Europe with Polska, Toris?" Russia growled into his face.

"I...we...he..." Lithuania struggled to breathe, his feet were three feet from the ground, his neck in Russia's vice-like grip.

"Sir... I think you should let him go. When Latvia arrives she'll be upset if she finds you've been hurting Toris. Toris and Poland are her friends, Sir," Estonia said quietly and hoped that his theory would bear fruit.

It did. They were like magic words. Russia dropped Toris like a stone and patted him on the head, "This is not over, Toris," he growled at the smaller Nation.

"Right... thanks then... We'll be seeing you... Don't call us, we'll call you. I'll send a postcard," Poland said hurriedly, shot upstairs to find the visas and then ran back down the stairs.

Russia was having none of this, "You are going nowhere until Latvia gets here and I know she is safe," he said, stomped out, took one long, disgusted look at Poland's pink Ferrari and stuck his faucet pipe into each of the tyres. There were four loud bangs as the tyres burst.

"Noooooooooooooooooooooo! My gorgeous, beautiful car!" Polska fell to his knees and sobbed.

Lithuania turned to his fellow Baltic, "Esty... you look different," he said. "You look ... well... ungeeky."

Estonia frowned, took off his glasses and peered in amazement at his reflection in the mirror. He could actually see without his glasses (he was chronically short-sighted) and he did – there was a sparkle in his eyes, his hair was glossy and shiny and he had a sexy smile on his lips. He winked at himself and almost fainted.

"Oh my word..." he said wonderingly.

"Hey Pol," Lithuania pulled Poland into the house, still lamenting over the damage to his car. "Look what happened to Esty..."

"I don't care, my car has been damaged by Braginski and... oh, Ed... have you, like, been using products on your skin and hair, cos you look bishi..."

Estonia gazed at himself wonderingly... he was... a sex god. "Honhonhon," he suddenly laughed and clamped a hand over his mouth.

Russia ignored all this. He didn't care about Pol's car – the little 'weirdo' deserved it and he didn't care if his middle, geeky Baltic was suddenly sexy. All he was bothered about was his smallest, cutest Baltic, "Where is Latvia? I need her, she should be here," he lamented.

* * *

><p>City Centre, Warsaw<p>

The psychedelic VW Campervan had parked up, and the assorted occupants got out. The tall, blond Ukrainian man with the shovel who had dodged back in when he'd seen Russia, stuck his head out, gauged that the object of his consternation had indeed disappeared and then indicated that they were to 'set up'.

The two girls got out their guitars, the other man nodded at the Ukrainian and they pulled Sealand – still in his school uniform, out and onto a small make-shift stage they'd hastily set up.

"All ready, Peter?"

Peter nodded, a little nervous, however, this was way better than double history and double geography so he smiled and gave the thumbs up, "I'm ready, Viktor," he piped at the tall Ukrainian.

Viktor set up his bongos and they began to play – rather well it must be said – a series of Ukrainian, Polish and Russian folk music, whilst Sealand sang, rather incongruously a mixture of Swedish folk songs and English sea shanties about invading Northern territories.

Viktor smiled. The kid was a natural, it was just a shame he couldn't remember any of the songs they'd tried to teach him. The tourists were literally throwing money at them. All they had to do was keep an eye out for any passing Nations – particularly Russia – and they were home and dry.

**Author's Notes:**

**1944, Warsaw – the Warsaw Uprising – in August 1944, the Polish Resistance Home Army rose up with the citizens of Warsaw against the Germans, believing that the Soviet Red Army who were just a few miles away and approaching the city would help (the Red Army had radioed them encouraging the uprising), but help did not come – well, not from the Soviets, the RAF did some tactical bombing, but the 'Home Army' was left to fight the Germans alone. The Nazis retaliated and just about raized the city to the ground. It's said Stalin wanted the destruction of the Polish Resistance Army so that when the Soviets did re-gain ground they could take Poland and put the country under communist rule without resistance...**

**Exit visas – during the time of the Cold War, movement between countries behind the Iron Curtain (i.e. the communist bloc) and the Western countries was quite difficult and visas were required (as they were if you wanted to go and out of Russia itself). Not sure how Prussia got in and out of Russia though – he's just awesome.**

**Cedric Cameron – the art dealer that Pol sold the paintings to back in Chapter 3 (I named him after the current British Prime Minister...)**

**Union of Lublin – 1569 – created the single Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, after centuries of various unions between Polish and Lithuanian monarchs the two nations had a single elected king.**

**1745 – War of the Austrian Succession – England allied with Austria – but only because Austria was fighting France (and Prussia)**

**Bishi – refers to Bishonen (hope I've got that right) – a Japanese term for youthful boy or youth – I think its used a lot in anime/manga. Not sure that Pol would use such a term but thought it would fit Estonia's new sparkly, sexy persona. But at least we know where France's sex powers have gone to.**

**Next chapter: Austrian-Hungarian empire history, Disney videos, another pregnancy, a bit of Russ-Lat fluff.**


	25. Closer

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters – I only borrowed the characters and returned them after the completion of this story. (Apart from Russia who I kept... shush, don't tell anyone...)**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourite (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): Elizablue, Tallionrief, Becky999, Scarheart of Darkclan, Willow the collie, xxcatxx, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: AusxHun angst, swearing, stupidity and finally some Russ-Lat fluff.**

Chapter 24 - Closer

Thurs AM

It was an interesting meeting to say the least. England wasn't sure if he'd ever been to one where everyone looked so morose, hang-dog or just plain beaten.

And some of the attendees _had_ been beaten.

Austria was nursing a black eye and a sore head. He sipped his tea with as much dignity as he could muster but kept sniffing and glaring around the table.

Italy, wearing a Luftwaffe uniform (which made England really, really want to punch his lights out) kept saying "Ja" and "Nein" and saluting.

Germany, still in his hippy clothes, was sat with his eyes half closed with a dopey smile on his face.

"What the bloody hell happened to them?" England had asked the only person who seemed fairly sensible – France – which says rather a lot about the atmosphere in the place.

France had replied morosely, "Zay appear to have swapped personalities, Angleterre."

England was perturbed to say the least that Francis was slouched in a chair looking like a tramp and whenever he said 'Angleterre' he didn't, for the first time in centuries put 'mon' in front of it. He also had not 'honhonhonned' once.

"Your scones did zis, Angleterre. My hair is greasy, my sex appeal is gone..."

"Oh, shut your bloody face," England had retorted.

Belarus and Hungary were sat at the other end of the table, both had faces like thunder. England could still not get out of Belarus as to why she would not talk to him – she wouldn't tell him. All Hungary would say, growling, was "Ask your big American lover..."

"He's my bloody little brother... well, not exactly my brother... it's complicated..."

"Yes, we know all about it..." Hungary had said ominously and then Belarus, to England's astonishment had burst into tears and fled the room before returning after a few minutes with a horrid gleam in eyes – probably reflected from the knife she carried.

England decided to say nothing more. Hormones, he decided.

America had been yelling at them all for nearly half an hour and getting more and more agitated as nobody appeared to be listening to his 'awesome plans' – his words.

Austria and Hungary kept glaring at each other, the former shaking his head and then feeling the lump on the back of his head tentatively - where her saucepan had met his scalp. His black eye was a result of a Hungarian punch. Hungary sat with her arms folded and looked ready to punch anyone who said the wrong thing through the nearest wall. England thought that even Russia would keep clear.

Only Spain was his normal, oblivious cheery little self.

"Si, America... so we rob zis bank... si... but you know, zis Toys R Us shop, they will have all the things we need?"

"Were you not listening, you dumpkompf?" Italy shouted.

Everyone around the table jumped. All Italy usually shouted was 'Pastaaaa!' and 'Germany!' so hearing the small, cowardly Italian call someone – particularly someone who was bigger than him a 'dumpkompf' was startling in the extreme.

The other two Nations present – Switzerland and Liechtenstein - were both sat in silence. Switzerland had not been convinced that none of the male Nations present were behind his darling sister's horrid transformation, despite Lily's pleas when he'd threatened each of them with his rifle.

Liechtenstein was very quiet as she was seriously wondering if her plan was actually going to work. The fact was that her 'lover' was not present and as it was an emergency meeting of all the 'powers' she'd expected him to be. Then she could have quickly got him on board, told Switzerland he was her new 'lover', Vash would have hit the roof and then hopefully, seen how suitable Iceland actually was.

She even asked, very carefully, in such roundabout way if her 'lover' was going to arrive, without, she hoped giving the game away or putting Switzerland on 'red alert' so the poor man could end up shot in the face before he even knew what was happening. "Is anyone else coming?" she'd asked at one point.

"Like who?" England had asked.

"Well... erm... the Nordics?"

Vash almost choked on his tea, "It better not be Denmark, young lady," he'd said.

She'd ignored him and tried again, "... or maybe the Baltics? You know erm Mr Lithuania or ... maybe is Mr Poland coming?"

"...or that Lithuania – he lives with Russia... and anyway, he hangs around with Poland who's also a bad influence..."

"... or Mr Prussia?"

Vash almost had a fit, "Gilbert! It had better not be him, Lily... oh my poor heart..."

Lily smiled, she was quiet enjoying this, she thought.

"Nope, only us, dudes... you don't need anybody else but the Hero!"

"What about Mr Russia... he's big and strong. He could help you..." she smiled at Vash's reaction which was colourful to say the least. His face went very red and he gripped his rifle so hard he almost broke it.

"I don't understand what it has to do with you, Switzerland. The girl is an adult..." Austria began.

"Well, it's bugger all to do with you!" Hungary retorted.

"I'm just saying that Switzerland is not her parent..." Austria glared at the Hungarian.

Hungary was about to say something but bit her lip, "What do you know about parenting?" she growled.

"Well... I..." Austria rubbed the back of his head, their recent conversation giving him pause for thought.

"Exactly, so perhaps you should shut the hell up." Hungary concluded, glaring at him.

* * *

><p>To explain why Austria was nursing a lump the size of an egg on the back of his head and a black eye, we should go back an hour to when he and Hungary had 'words'. They'd had 'words' before. Many, many times in fact. Having been together for centuries, first as children Hungary had kicked Austria's arse many times, then as master and servant – although 'master' just being a title – Austria never felt he was a 'master' to Hungary, maybe, occasionally to Feliciano, but never to Hungary. And then as lovers – when she had often cracked him around the head – once for saying they should give up at the War of the Austrian Succession, another time for having the impertinence to say that her Hungarian Army could not hold off Prussia – which it did.<p>

She'd also bested him several times in their marriage. However, Austria never ever retaliated. And he didn't this time, realising that, as he usually realised that she would just kick his arse and that he probably deserved it.

He'd made the mistake of sticking up for England (why, he had no idea, but he wouldn't fall for that again), "I don't see why Belarus won't talk to him... he's done nothing wrong..."

"Well, that's what you would say," Hungary had said, slamming around in the small caravan kitchen.

Austria couldn't understand this reply and had told her as such.

"You men always stick up for one another... literally. And don't tell me I don't know what's going on... Spain being here as well..."

Austria didn't understand this either and told her so.

"He's been wanting to resurrect the bloody Hapsburg Bourbon Empire since ... the last meeting..." Hungary yelled at him as she picked up a large knife.

Austria made the fatal mistake then of telling her she was being 'silly' and 'hormonal'. He regretted it immediately.

Hungary, who was actually, to be fair, being hormonal, smacked him hard around the head with a saucepan.

"Ow! What was that for? I only said you weren't thinking properly... why would I want Spain when I've got you?"

"Oh, so if you didn't have me, you'd go to Antonio... I see, it's like that is it?" Hungary snapped.

Austria rubbed the back of his head, "Do you know, one day I'll hit you back..." he said, but stepped back hurriedly as he said it.

Hungary turned around with a snarl from her chopping of vegetables ready for the ghoulash she was making for her 'boys' (the builders), "What did you say?" she said, dangerously waving a knife around.

"Nothing, dear..." he said hurriedly.

Hungary slammed the knife down and wiped her hands, "I'm hormonal because..." here she paused, rather dramatically, Austria thought, "because I'm pregnant..." she finally said and waited for a response.

Austria's first thought was one of dismay. Images of snotty-nosed children (why he thought in the plural is a mystery) running around, breaking his antiques and generally causing chaos, sleepless nights, midnight feeding, pacing the floor with a squalling baby because he knew he would be the one who would have to do it as Hungary had virtually zero patience. He was, he thought, well over 1000 years old, too old for this lark... However, before he had chance to formulate some sort of reply or school the dismayed look on his face, it was too late.

Hungary, a horrible feeling in her chest as what she suspected became reality, judging by the look on his face – Austria didn't want to be a father after all this time, clutched the worktop and turned to look out of the window, "Don't worry, don't say anything," she said.

"Liz, it's okay, I'm sure that..." Austria tried desperately to think of something positive to say, "I'm sure when I've got used to the idea..." he said desperately... 'in a few centuries,' he added in his head.

"Well, you don't have to..." Hungary said quietly, "It's not yours, so you don't have to bother about it..." she finally said, not looking at him.

Austria who had been rubbing the back of his head, thankful there was no blood, looked up at his ex-wife, "What?" he said blankly.

"It's not yours... so not your problem. I'll take care of everything."

Austria often lost his temper... every day in fact. But it was usually over minor things – the builders building a swimming pool when his mansion was still without a habitable bathroom, people cutting him off at roundabouts, shop-keepers short-changing him - but his temper was usually a vocal one and short-lived. This time he just exploded, "Who the bloody hell? Where? When? I thought that we... you..." he stopped, breathless. "Who is it?" he said, finally. "If it's one of the other Nations I'll bloody well punch them in the face."

"It's no-one you know..." Hungary said flatly. She was trying to keep from crying. It was easier this way, she thought. Just let him think this, I don't need him...

Austria then made another grave mistake and one that could have cost him his life, "Well I bloody well hope _you_ know who it is." and as soon as he said it, he regretted it. Especially as Hungary spun around and punched him.

* * *

><p>Thus, Hungary and Belarus decided, between them that they would bring their children up between them – in a female-only commune. Free from the stupidity of men. To become great female Nations – a future generation of female Nations who would rule the world. (Hungary had said all this with a gleam in her eyes, holding a knife.)<p>

Well, that was the plan. Belarus had been a little perturbed about the 'no men' rule. "Can't Arthur just visit, occasionally, overnight...?" she'd asked, only to be shushed by Hungary.

"Katya will join us and Latvia..." Hungary had told Belarus as they walked across to the mansion for the meeting.

"Are they pregnant?" Belarus had asked. It certainly wouldn't surprise her if her sister was – her sister was very fertile and could get pregnant just by looking at a man funny. (That's not how female Nations or female humans for that matter get pregnant – this is just in Belarus' head.)

Weirdly, Hungary hadn't answered as they'd linked arms and went into the meeting together, "Girl power!" Hungary had said and looked at the men around the table in a challenging manner. No-one had said anything.

* * *

><p>Warsaw<p>

Poland had tried ringing Austria's mansion for an update as to what was going on but kept getting a very strange reply. A voice that sounded like Italy's but speaking in a weird German accent answered the telephone and called him a 'dummkopf' and that he should 'get his paperwork in order'. Finally, he gave up.

He knew he should go and help sort out the mess he'd caused, Lithuania was right about that, but then Lithuania was usually right – Toris was his moral compass and had been for 500 years, but there was one big problem. A 6 feet two inch problem who was refusing to let them leave the house until his 'little sunflower' had arrived and confirmed she was alright.

Poland didn't really want to have to explain to Latvia that he'd been impersonating her for the past couple of days. The photoshoots for Vogue and various European newspapers would be hitting the presses this weekend and he'd also promised to do a book signing in Britain.

Although he hadn't, as he'd promised Liet, touched her royalties, he had taken a cheque for expenses from her publishers and knew that she wouldn't be too impressed by that. Poland wasn't afraid of the little Baltic. Nothing, not even Russia scared him.

After running the daily threat of arrest from the Gestapo in the War, nothing much bothered him. However, he did treasure his looks and he knew if Latvia got upset, then Russia got upset and when Russia got upset people's heads got in the way of his pipe.

So, he and Lithuania were sat in his living room – which, surprisingly was still in one piece, considering Russia's rising consternation – watching a Disney movie with the agitated Russian.

"Why are we watching Bambi again, Liet?" Pol asked for the hundredth time.

"Mr Russia likes cartoon animals, they calm him down," Toris had whispered back.

It had calmed him down a lot. But he'd had to leave the room when Bambi's mother died, muttering about 'having something in his eye' and only returning when the scene had finished.

* * *

><p>Estonia had spent a whole hour looking at himself in the mirror in complete astonishment and then had rung Katya. "Katya... are you alright?" he'd whispered, hoping Russia wouldn't hear him.<p>

"Da, I am. Where are you?"

"Poland's house... Katya... I've got something to tell you..."

"I've got something to tell you..."

"I'm sexy!" Estonia had blurted out, looking at his reflection in astonishment.

"I'm pregnant!" Katya had told him. Looking ruefully at her reflection – she was going to have to get her maternity gear out again and those huge bras out... wait, what?

"What?" Estonia asked.

"Wut?" Katya asked.

And the line went dead.

* * *

><p>An hour later...<p>

"Aw... little twin foals..." Russia sniffed as the end credits rolled and had to leave the room again 'to get another bottle of vodka'.

They heard Prussia, Denmark and Latvia before they saw them. Actually they heard the van pull into the driveway with a clatter and a bang and then:

"My van's awesome, man!"

"It stinks. I've never smelt anything so awful."

"Did you see that guy's face when we overtook him on the hard shoulder... haha, priceless. My beer bottle hit his windscreen..."

"You're both fools."

"That must be dude Pol's car."

"Kesese, what a poser... pink... hey what happened to the tyres, man... not cool."

"Hey, Pol, your tyres have been busted, man!" Den had yelled.

Latvia frowned, and tried to shush him. Too late, the remains of Poland's door were flung open and Russia steamed out, punched Prussia soundly in the head, shoved Denmark out of the way and gathered Latvia into his arms.

"Vanya!" she managed to muffle out whilst held against his chest. Her feelings were suddenly all confused and muddled again. She was glad to see him, in fact she wrapped her arms around him and snuggled into his chest, whilst he released a huge sigh and... was he purring? And why did he smell of seaweed? But she also felt some trepidation, after all, she'd run away and had vowed to bring up their baby on her own. She didn't want him giving this baby away... oh wait, the baby! Then she pulled away, hurriedly.

"Latvia?" Russia frowned, worriedly, "Why?" he asked. His face registered hurt, confusion and a hint of anger.

Prussia was nursing a bloodied nose and was hitting the large Russian on the back, "Let go of dude chick, you big rapetruck..." he broke off as Russia swung around to punch him again.

"Don't hit him, Vanya!" Latvia said and pushed herself between them.

Russia lowered his fist. His eyes flickered between Latvia and Gilbert, his violet irises registering conflicting flashes of anger and tenderness. "You kidnapped her... my little sunflower... you will pay, you little..."

"Hey, chill, man... we didn't kidnap her..." Denmark said, barging in. He handed a beer bottle to Prussia – as if this would stem the blood-flow from the latter Nation's nose.

Russia turned to the Dane, "Sweden and Finland are looking for you and you are in trouble," he said, as if the Dane was a miscreant child in trouble with his parents.

Denmark shook this off, "Ha! They don't bother me. I don't have to answer to them. I can stay out as long as I like. They're not going to tell me what time to go to bed!" he yelled.

"How un-cool is he, eh, Liet? Berwald and Tino tell him when to go to bed." Poland whispered to Lithuania as they stood on the doorstep watching the Russian and Latvian reunion.

Lithuania nodded quietly. He was more concerned about Estonia. Ever since Eduard had been on the telephone he'd been dancing dreamily around the kitchen, swishing his newly sexy hair and singing 'Plaisir d'Amour'. Lithuania hadn't realised that Estonia was fluent in French. It was most perplexing.

"They didn't kidnap me," Latvia said, putting a hand on Russia's arm to restrain him from beating up anyone else, damaging any more doors, bursting any more tyres or embedding his pipe into any other inanimate object (pardon the double entendre).

Russia turned back to her, bent down and gently grazed her cheek with his lips, "You're alright then? They didn't hurt you?" he whispered.

"Fucking 'ell, man!" Prussia objected, "She bloody kidnapped us..."

Poland sniggered. Lithuania nudged him to be quiet.

"Yeah, dude. She held a gun to dude Gil's head..." Den joined in, waving his beer about, "and she threatened me. You should see the bruises on my arm where she hit me. Dude chick's hard, man."

Poland was shaking with laughter, "Oh, like, Liet, this is soooo funny. Latty-kins is kick-ass... those two goons... hahaha... kidnappers... oh someone make this into a film..."

Lithuania nudged him again.

Russia's eyes darkened. "You didn't? But why? How?" he turned back to Latvia, who was gazing up at him.

"I ran away," she said, quietly.

Russia opened his mouth to say something. He felt a horrid heavy feeling in his chest as his thousand year old heart was close to breaking, "B...b...but why?" he said softly. She must hate him, he thought.

"Yes, why? And where's my... I mean... Mr Russia's credit card?" Estonia butted in, finally pulling himself away from tap-dancing around the kitchen singing silly French love songs and vowing that he would be the best dad there ever was.

"Oooooh Esty!" Denmark's eyes widened. He shoved Russia out of the way and gathered Estonia in his arms, "Why did we ever split up? You were never this sexy when we were together!"

"Get off me!" Estonia yelled.

Poland's eyes were wide as saucers, cataloguing all this for his gossip buddy – Ukraine.

Lithuania shook his head, "I'll switch the kettle on and we'll all have a nice cup of tea," he said.

Latvia looked up into Russia's eyes, "I'm sorry... I just... you didn't listen to me..." she said lamely.

"But now you'll stay with me? You won't go away again?" he said, his voice quavering, his arms wrapped around her waist again and he held her very tight. Perhaps, he thought, she might stay. If he could get her to stay with him and he was quiet and gentle, she might not run away again. He must never let her go again, he decided.

Latvia nodded, too afraid to say anything else. She could feel the tremor in his arms and there was a weird, wild look in his eyes. I'll talk to Hungary, she thought, she'll help me, she'll know what to do.

"But you have to let go of me, Vanya," Latvia said quietly as the others traipsed into the house, "You can't keep hold of me forever... I mean..." she stuttered. Was he going to hold her like this for hours?

"Tea, sir? And I found biscuits!" Lithuania shouted from the kitchen where Denmark and Estonia could be heard arguing about the latter Nation's sudden ascent to sexiness.

Russia, his head still snuffling in Latvia's hair perked up and slowly released her.

"Thank you, Vanya," she smiled at him and considered telling him her news, "Vanya..." she whispered.

"Da, Aija?" he murmured back, fumbling in his pocket.

"I'm..." she was about to say 'pregnant', when Russia pulled out a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs, clipped one cuff to her left hand and the other to his right.

"Where? What? Hang on!" she said, utterly outraged.

"They are Polska's. I found them!" Russia beamed. She couldn't run away now, he thought.

"I don't care who they belong to, take them off!" she yelled and started hitting him on the shoulder with her free hand.

"Nyet, Aija is staying with me now..."

"But... but... I'm right-handed... I..." she struggled and pulled, fruitlessly. She may as well have tried to move the Himalayas.

"Ooooh..." Russia rubbed his head, forgetting for a moment he was manacled to her and lifting her up into the air.

He sighed, produced the key from his trouser pocket and unlocked the cuffs – to Latvia's relief.

"Thank you, Vanya... honestly... you had me going there..." she laughed nervously.

Russia smiled softly, undid the manacles and then re-attached them to her left hand and his right hand.

"There," he said, "I can still fight with my left hand."

He then, popped the key back in his pocket and strode off into the house, dragging her with him. "Now, nothing can keep us apart," he said confidently.

* * *

><p>Watching from the bushes, crouching next to a rather smutty ensemble of gnomes was Romano and Miss Bollockoff.<p>

"Ha! Any minute now and Vodka Bastard will be feeling the effects of my latest weapon..." Romano said, confidently.

Miss Bollockoff sighed. She'd put away her gun, realising that it only made the small Italian almost wet his pants. She should really have warned her Nation before he'd drunk that vodka, but really she was quite interested in the effect – if any – herself. Now the other Baltic Nation was here, she could safely arrest Latvia she thought, and use her as leverage to get Russia to come home without further ado. However, his handcuffing himself to the smaller female Nation made her pause. Now what?

**Author's Notes:**

**Plaisir d'Amour – The Pleasure of Love – a classic French love song.**

**Next chapter: someone steals 'Mr Pipe', assassin!Romano fails again and an ex-Nation returns.**


	26. Disguises

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters – thank you to Hima-papa for letting me play in his sand-box (even though I haven't told him – probably cos I don't know who he is...)**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourite (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

Author's Note: Apologies, apologies – this is what happens when you write a load of chapters and then upload them ... I got them in the wrong order... doh

Warnings: More Russ-Lat fluff (well this is a RussiaxLatvia story), swearing, stupidity.

Chapter 25 -Disguises

Thurs Noon

"Right dudes, here's the final list..." America yelled, slurping his soda through his straw, "Batman..."

"I presume that's for you, is it?" England snorted, shaking his head.

He ignored Belarus who muttered, "And I suppose you are going to be Robin?"

"Of course, I am the Hero and..."

"Can I have a pirate costume?" Spain asked.

"Dude Tony, I got you down as Bananaman!"

"Nooooo! Is there no Tomatoman?" Spain asked.

"Whoever heard of a bloody Tomatoman?" England said, utterly outraged.

"Right, Austria, I put down Tigger or Winnie the Pooh for you..."

"Why on earth...?" Austria looked up appalled. He really did not want to have anything to do with this 'bank job'. He wanted to sit down and talk to Elizaveta and try to work out what on earth was going on... or not, judging by the murderous look in her eyes. He'd seen the plans for this 'heist' as America excitedly called it and they were amateur in the extreme. He doubted they would get past the reception of the bank.

"Masks, dude, masks." America explained, slurped up more of his soda and continued, his face flushed. He hadn't had so much excitement since... well, since the last time he, Prussia and Den had gone drinking and they'd wound up naked in a lifeboat on a cargo boat heading to Peru. "France, I figured you'd be okay as Supergirl – you've got the girly legs and you can act as a decoy seeing as how our girly Nations aren't prepared to help us save the world."

"Just rub it in, why don't you? My sex appeal 'as gone and you are making fun of moi... oh, I cannot take any more!" France wailed and shuffled out.

There was a long pause, silence and then a 'meh' from someone.

"Okay-dokay... Swissland..."

"I am not wearing any ridiculous outfit, costume or mask."

"You don't need one, you already look ridiculous..." Austria retorted. He was feeling awful and if he was feeling awful he really didn't see why other people shouldn't either.

"Also, I am having nothing to do with this bank heist. It will all go wrong anyway." Switzerland said conclusively and started to clean his rife – again.

"You're a bloody banker, you know all there is to know about banks... we need your inside information," England shouted.

Switzerland crossed his arms, "It's against the law - what you are proposing."

Hungary nodded, "I have to say it, and I hate it, but Vash is right."

"Well girly chicks, you're not in on this anyway. We can save the world without you..." America said. "Francey-pants can be the girl decoy."

"You're not saving the world. You're trying to save a bloody painting with our faces on it. How do you know the world's media are going to immediately think it's us?" Hungary pointed out.

America shrugged, "Dunno, Hungaria... it's just totally awesome... dynamite..." America uttered the last word with a look of absolute bliss on his face.

"We don't know if they will, but we can't take that risk, Liz," Austria sighed.

"Don't call me Liz," Hungary said with a snarl.

"It's your name!"

"Sod off, Austria."

"I will not, as you say, sod off..."

"Fuck off, then."

"Achtung!"

"Italy?" everyone looked up as the small Italian stood on his chair and spouted a bizarre mixture of Italian and German, his face bright red, his little fists clenched. Germany sat by his side looked up (with eyes half closed) a dreamy, vacant smile on his face. "Oooh, Italy," the German Nation muttered most dreamily.

"Indeed," England said, "We need to get this show on the road, chappies and er..." here he looked at Belarus and Hungary," Chapesses."

The telephone rang and everyone looked at everyone else to see who would answer it. Finally, England stood up and, scratching his head absentmindedly, wandered into the hallway muttering to himself and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" he said.

"Who's that?"

"Well, I say! How rude!"

"Who is it? Is it that idiotic Italian again?"

England paused, obviously this person, whoever it was, was talking a little sense, "No, do I sound bloody foreign?" England said, and then realised that actually as he was there, an Englishman in an Austrian house, _he _was the foreigner.

"Well to me, you do," the voice said.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" England almost erupted.

The receiver at the other end was obviously taken by someone else. Hopefully with more brain cells, England thought.

"Is that Mr Austria's household?"

"Of course it bloody well is. You rang this bloody number didn't you? Bloody foreigners..." (Clearly, England should never take up an occupation dealing with telephone enquiries.)

"This is Lithuania. Is it possible to speak to someone in charge?"

"Ah Lithuania... who was that bloody fool? And what do you mean by 'in charge'? I suppose you mean sodding America, don't you? Well, actually the big idiot is here, but you can talk to me. I know what's happening..." England almost shouted. Really, he was fed up of people just assuming he was some sidekick. Robin to his Batman, indeed. He would show them.

"Erm, okay. Mr England... is it true about this painting? Me and Pol saw it on the news..."

"Pol? Who the bloody hell is Pol?"

"Poland and..."

"Oh, I see... well you can tell that silly little cross-dressing so and so that him stealing that sodding painting has caused all this. Damn and blast it, man, that painting goes on sale tomorrow in front of the world's media with our bloody faces on it..." England continued to rant. He heard muttering on the other end of the line.

("I told you, Pol... you should never have..." "I know, like, Liet, but honestly, ten thou... you would have..." "No, I wouldn't...")

"Are you bloody well listening to me?" England exploded (not literally of course – that would cause rather a mess on the carpet).

There was a pause and then a "Yes."

"Well, what the bloody hell is your idiot 'Pol' – honestly, what a ridiculous name – going to do about it, eh? I mean we are all here trying to get this painting back and it's not easy, let me tell you... I'm going to have to dress up as a bloody Robin or some sort of bird or something and... and..." England ran out of steam as America came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Chill, dude..." America took the receiver from his hand, "Hey, yeah, Lovinia... whatever... yep, Polish dude, man... yep, two hours? Right... dude, check it!" and then promptly put the receiver down on its cradle. "Arty, man, if you don't chillax you're gonna have a stroke."

England winced and waited for France to 'honhonhon' and say something about 'oh yes, he can have a stroke with me' or 'I will stroke him, oh yes', but nothing came. Only Francis' wailing "I cannot zink of any sexual innuendo!"

"Well thank heavens for small mercies," England said and wiped his brow.

* * *

><p>Warsaw, Poland<p>

Prussia, still nursing his bleeding nose – which was not (however much Denmark thought it was) helped by a bottle of beer, was sat at Pol's kitchen table. He seriously wondered, how he, the great Awesome One, had come to this... after all his planning (all one hour of it in fact), he was sat here with a gormless Dane, a 'fat commie bastard' and 'mad girly dude chick' who was sat on fat commie bastard's knee and Estonia who now called himself, much to Prussia's disgust 'Epicstonia'.

Latvia had no choice but to sit on Russia's knee. She was handcuffed to him and he automatically pulled her onto his lap, her left arm pressed up against his chest. What was annoying her was that he kept sniffling into her left ear and kissing the top of her head. She kept trying to bat him away, but failing as he seemed to think this was 'cute'. It was rather akin to a bee attacking a bear.

The five Nations looked up as Poland and Lithuania came back into the kitchen. The former Nation was filing his nails nonchalantly as if he didn't have anything to do with changing the course of human history, the latter looking annoyed.

"We're off to Vienna as soon as possible," Lithuania told his fellow Nations.

"I'm coming with you," Latvia said decisively and attempted to get off Russia's lap, but found she couldn't so batted him on the shoulder instead.

"Nyet, we are going home. All of us... well, not you Gilbert," Russia told them.

"Wouldn't want to..." Gilbert said, supping his beer.

"Or you, Denmark. You should be going to _your_ home with Sweden and Finland."

"I ain't answering to them."

Russia ignored him, "... or you, Polska. I do not like you."

Poland shrugged, "Meh," he answered.

"We're going to Vienna because of this painting... it was by Leonardo da Vinci and it shows the Nations. It's going to be sold tomorrow and all the world's press and television are going to be there. America, England, France, Austria, Spain..." Lithuania continued, ignoring Russia – for once he didn't feel at all frightened of his huge boss – not with Latvia perched on the Russian's lap.

"Woooah, there... hold your horses, dude... what did you say?" Prussia suddenly pulled the cotton wool out of his bloodied nose and perked up, his mind flitting away from how to cause Russia's immediate demise to what the Lithuanian had just said.

"Tomorrow... it's going to be sold tomorrow. A lot of the Nations are on this painting," Lithuania told him.

"Am I on it?" Russia asked suddenly. "This Mr da Vinci... I don't think I ever met him..."

"No, Sir. You didn't," Estonia piped up. He hadn't been under Russian control then, but from his encyclopaedic knowledge of Russian history (he found it extremely useful at times) he thought it highly doubtful Russia had met the Italian master.

"Nah, dude... guy didn't have a pipe in his head... so you couldn't have... Nations, eh? Who's on this thing? Hey! That means... I was a Nation..." Prussia's red eyes gleamed with the memory.

Russia started kolkolling, growling. Latvia shivered on his knee as she could feel the growls emanating from his chest and rumbling through her body.

"Erm, well, from what I can gather... it was in Austria's possession, but Francis I of France and Francis... our France, I mean, had it painted," Lithuania said, trying to piece together what he'd heard from the newspaper and what Poland had told him.

"So Specs went and lost it? What a goon! Kesese!" Prussia laughed long and hard at this.

Everyone knew who Prussia meant by 'specs'.

Russia growled at Prussia's laugh.

"Well, he didn't exactly lose it, it was stolen," Lithuania said and glanced at Poland.

"Phew, man... it's gotta be worth something," Denmark said and then added with a dreamy look on his face, "You could buy tons of beer..."

"It's not all about beer, man!" Prussia said – to the amazement of everyone, not least Denmark.

Denmark fell off his chair, "How can you say that?" Denmark wailed.

"I bet I'm on that painting! I was the major power in those days..."

Many people around the table growled at that, obviously Russia (that was a given), but also Poland and Lithuania, even Denmark looked at his friend with a frown.

"...and if the world's press see it..." Prussia stood up, picked up Russia's pipe, jumped on the table and yelled "I, the great Prussia will rise again and be a Nation!"

Russia snarled, stood up, slamming his chair behind him, Latvia slid off his knee but dangled at his right hand like a little marionette as he tried to grab the Prussian.

"Kolkolkol!" Russia growled, trying to grab Mr Pipe from the idiotic ex Teutonic knight.

Prussia danced around on the table, kicking over Poland's best china "Kesese! Get in!" he yelled.

Russia attempted to swipe at the Prussian, Latvia trying desperately to keep from being swung around on the other end of the handcuffs and batting Ivan fruitlessly on the shoulder.

And then the door was flung open and a small, much irritable Italian charged in, his face as red as a tomato, his amber eyes flashing, "Why won't you die?" he yelled. "Dammit! I tried everything. Drowning, dynamite, cutting your brake cables, death by Murphy bed... and now poison... rat poison and... and..." Romano threw himself on the floor, face down and started battering his hands and feet against the carpet, yowling in utter rage.

Behind him, a stern-faced looking young woman who looked vaguely familiar was holding a gun.

"Romano was trying to kill you, Sir," Estonia murmured to Russia as everyone froze where they were – like a movie being on 'pause button'.

"Mr Russia, Mr Lithuania, Mr Estonia and Miss Latvia you are all to come with me," Miss Bollockoff said, "Under the orders of the KGB," she added hurriedly.

Russia, the poisoned vodka finally having some sort of effect on his body (his stomach had been roiling for the past half an hour, but he'd put that down to the effects of love and having Latvia snuggling on his knee), opened his mouth to say 'Nyet' or 'Kolkolkol' but instead gave forth such a large belch that the house shook, the glass in the windows buckled and all the occupants (apart from Russia) were knocked off their feet.

"Phew! Better out than in!" Russia said, his face flushing a little. He bent down to pull Latvia back up, smoothing her down a little too thoroughly, she thought.

"Fucking hell!" Prussia yelled, picking himself up off the floor, "What the bloody hell do you feed that big idiot, Toris?"

Romano jumped to his feet and yelled, "Is that it? Is that it? Half a bottle of rat poison and all he does, dammit, is burp?" He flung himself to his knees, "I have failed..."

"Indeed you have," Estonia said quietly and put a hand on his shoulder.

Miss Bollockoff tried to retrieve her gun which she'd dropped when she'd been knocked over by the shockwave.

However, Lithuania got there first and held her tight, "Not so fast, Miss... erm...?"

"Bollockoff... Major Bollockoff... KGB," she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Kesese! That figures!" Prussia said, enjoying himself very much.

"You can't do this to me! I'm the grandson of the Great Roman Empire!" Romano yelled as the ropes tightened around him.

"Da, I can..." Russia said, cheerfully as he, Estonia and Lithuania tied the most incompetent assassin in the world and the KGB Major together, back to back.

"You are the grandson of the Roman Empire?" Major Bollockoff asked him.

"Si... I am South Italy. Fratello is North Italy. I only took this job on to make some lira, si."

Russia stood in front of him, waving his pipe in the air, ignoring Latvia's pleas for restraint, "Who paid you?"

"I will tell you nothing!" Romano said, most dramatically but flinched as the pipe sailed over his head.

"Da, it's true, if your head meets Mr Pipe then you won't be saying anything for a very long time," Russia said, using logic.

"Okay, okay... it was the Mafia... You hurt one of their bosses and so they came to me."

Lithuania and Estonia exchanged looks.

"You were going to kill Mr Russia?" Latvia was appalled.

"Si... well... just make it look like he was dead," Romano flinched as the pipe whizzed just a few millimetres from his head. "Fratello needs the money for treatment for potato bastard!"

"Okay, now you know... that this mentally subnormal small Nation tried to injure you, Sir. I, on the other hand, am an esteemed officer of the KGB..." Miss Bollockoff began.

Russia snarled. Mentioning the word 'KGB' did not elicit much sympathy.

"Okaaaaay..." Miss Bollockoff decided to shut up, wisely.

"You are both staying here until we get back from Vienna. And then I will decide what to do with you," Russia said and then bent down so his nose was almost touching Romano's face, "Be thankful that my little Latvia is here or I would have pounded you into dust..." Romano whimpered and he tried to pull away, "I don't like you," Russia whispered in the Italian's ear as Romano started to cry.

Elsewhere in the house, the telephone rang.

"Can someone get that?" Lithuania shouted, "I'm busy up here," he was about to add that he was busy trying to stop Russia from killing Romano and a KGB officer (he wasn't that bothered about the latter – however, she was a girl, and that was probably the only thing that saved her) and trying to prevent Latvia from being dragged around too much.

Poland was sat at the kitchen table, not painting his nails for a change – there were no Nations present so his usually cheery, gay facade had slipped and instead he was cleaning and reloading his Nagant pistol. "Busy, sweetie!" he called in his best campish voice.

"Yo, bro," Denmark answered, "You've reached the household of gay dude... Nah mate, you're talking to me, the King of Northern Europe... I bloody well am... I am... I'll come across there and kick your arse... don't tell me to shut up..."

"Who is it, sweetie?" Pol called, holstering his weapon and swaggering in to find Denmark yelling down the telephone.

"I _am_ the King of Northern Europe... well, you're not. I'm not under any medication... only Carlsberg... Sweden and Finland aren't in charge of me... Well, okay then, Norway is... but he's not here so nerrr to you..."

Poland stood next to him and said softly, "If it's the KGB, tell them they can go piss up a flagpole and then hang up, quick."

"I'm not... Well, so are you..." Denmark was clearly having a running argument with someone on the other end of the telephone and was waving his beer around dangerously, ignoring Poland.

"Who're you arguing with?" Pol asked, finally.

Denmark glanced down at the small Polish Nation stood next to him and rolled his eyes, "West German Government... bunch of pricks."

"Why are they ringing here?" Poland frowned. He tried to think, had he conned anyone lately in the German Government?

Denmark turned back to the telephone, "What you ringing here for? ... Nah, I'm not being rude... well... oh... hang on..."

"Tell them that Ludwig is not here... but tell them that Ivan is..." Pol said, his mind going back to 1939, he was about to head down to his basement and begin getting out sandbags. Painting his house or attaching large rockets to launch it into space was clearly not going to work if a German invasion was on its way.

"Ivan's here... yeah... he is... and me, Denmark... so you can't go around invading little countries again... well I don't care that your Government is all green... Pol's is lilac but he doesn't go around gobbing at people smaller than him."

Denmark might have carried on all day, berating the West German Government official about his views on the War, when the poor unfortunate person at the other end of the line obviously outshouted him (Germans can usually outshout most people, even Danes) and actually asked for someone else.

"GILBERT! PRUSSIA! DUDE MAN!" Denmark yelled, making the windows of the house shake.

"In the shower!" Gilbert yelled back, in the process of creating a shampoo mohican.

"Telephone! Some totally un-awesome German wants to speak to you!" Denmark yelled.

"Ooh!" The shower was turned off as Prussia scrambled out, wrapping a towel around his waist to conceal what modesty he liked to think he had and bounded down the stairs (passing Latvia and Russia, the latter Nation was on her way up for her third bathroom break of the past hour – the manoeuvrings of this requiring a great deal of ingenuity, swearing and Latvia punching Russia – which Russia seemed to find 'cute', even though he couldn't understand why she kept having to use the bathroom so much).

Prussia snatched the phone from Denmark. "Hallo?" He listened intently for a while, before yelling "Danke! Yes, of course I'll do it! You can count on the awesome me!" and hanging up.

Denmark, Poland, Estonia and Lithuania watched in mild horror as the dripping Prussian began dancing about the room, gyrating his hips, moving his arms in an... odd... fashion and generally making Toris, in particular wish that he had the power to unsee things.

Denmark danced along with the Prussian and they did a mad polka up and down the hallway yelling 'Kesese!'.

It was only when this had been going on for around five minutes (at which point Feliks had left the room, deciding that he required more caffeine and Toris had settled himself down on the sofa and put the TV on) when Denmark finally asked, "What're we celebrating, dude?"

"I'm gonna take over as Germany, man!"

"Woo!"

Russia and Latvia walked in then, just in time to witness Prussia's towel coming undone from around his waist and falling off onto the floor. But before Raivis could catch a glimpse of anything, however, Ivan's hand descended over her eyes and everything went black. "I never get to see _anything_!" The young nation complained.

Denmark, meanwhile, looked over at his friend's groin area, shook his head and just said, "Dude..."

"There's not a whole lot to see, Aija," was Ivan's cutting reply. Gilbert turned to glare at the Russian.

"It was a cold shower, okay?"

Pol walked in at this point, drinking a new cup of coffee, and took one look at Prussia before having an attack of the giggles. "Gil, honey, that looks just like a penis, only it's really, really small..."

"C'mon, I wanna see it so I can make jokes, too!" Latvia whined.

**Author's Note:**

**'Epicstonia' – regretfully, I did not come up with this (although I wish I did) – that genius nickname is from the fanfiction 'In a word: Epic' by Anon Fishy-chan**

**1939 – the year Poland was invaded by Germany (and the Soviet Union). Sorry guys. I've mentioned the 2nd World War a lot in this fic, but I think it must still resonate with the Nations even 40 years later.**

**Next Chapter: Romano's charm is tested, Viktor Braginski, the problems of being sexy, the problems of being handcuffed to Russia and the problems of being stuck in a toilet cubicle...**


	27. Bound to You

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. If I did would I be sat here in my pyjamas writing fanfiction? Actually I probably would – but I would make this into a multi-million pound blockbuster movie...**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

Warnings: Brief mentions of OCs

Chapter 26 – Bound to You

Warsaw, Poland

"I've met bread with a higher IQ than you." And "I've worn dresses with more intelligence than you." Were both statements uttered by an increasingly dismayed and irritated KGB officer tied to a small Italian.

"Aw that is not fair, pretty girl!" Romano interjected as they both struggled against the tight bonds holding them. Their hands and feet were tied and then Russia had had them bound together, back to back.

"Stop calling me that!"

They shuffled around and Miss Bollockoff tried to reach into the pocket of her jacket where she told Romano, there was a knife.

"Ah si, but no gun?"

"A gun is not going to help us, is it?" she said much exasperated. ('Unless I shoot you,' she thought.)

"Ah si, I see..." Romano shuffled and wriggled along with her.

"See? See? What?" The KGB Major gave up and tried direct instruction, "Your right..."

"I know... si..."

"No... your right... go to your right..."

"Ah si..."

This time Miss Bollockoff descended to shouting, "YOUR RIGHT!"

"There is no need to shout," Romano pouted.

Eventually, after much shuffling and wriggling they were finally face to face – a little too close for Miss Bollockoff's comfort.

"You are very pretty, Miss... er..." Romano gazed into the Russian's blue eyes, "I like your eyes."

"You can't remember my name, can you?" she asked, but was momentarily lost for a bit in the Italian's deep amber eyes. If he wasn't so stupid, inane, so obviously a ladies' man and incompetent she might have actually... no, she thought, I'm on a mission. I'm a highly trained professional, an officer of the Russian Secret Service.

"It's-a Sophia!" Romano finally said triumphantly and reached forward and kissed her – again.

"Svetlana!" the Major muffled against Romano's lips, but he couldn't hear her.

* * *

><p>Warsaw City Centre<p>

Sweden and Finland pulled up at the red traffic lights, both were on the look-out for two vehicles – Sweden's Volvo and a psychedelic VW Campervan. Purely by coincidence they found both – parked practically next to each other. Or, in the case of the Volvo, abandoned.

Sweden leapt out of the car and strode up to what used to be his immaculately-kept car. What he now saw was, quite frankly, a wreck. He kicked the passenger door in a rare outburst of pure rage – usually only Denmark could elicit such a response from the large Swede and the car responded by collapsing on its wheels.

"I am going to kill that Russian!" Sweden growled.

Finland got out of the hire car and followed his husband, standing next to him, gently rubbing his broad back and then turning, he saw an awfully garish paintjob.

"Ber, look..." the Finn said.

"What? Is it Braginski? Because if it is..." Berwald didn't finish what he was going to do to Russia when he saw him because he followed Tino's pointing finger to the VW Campervan.

Sweden was usually a quiet, gentle giant... until he was ired that is. And now he was well and truly annoyed. His Viking heritage was usually, by social convention, buried under a layer of stoicism and politeness. It usually only reared its head when Denmark was charging around the house, threatening to invade some poor southern Nation. However now, having come all this way and found his car having been vandalised by his psychotic neighbour, Russia, he was well on his way to getting out his broadsword and wreaking havoc.

Then they heard the unmistakable sound of their 'son' singing a jolly little ditty 'White Cliffs of Dover', bizarrely to a Ukrainian folk tune.

"Peter!" Tino yelled and ran in the direction of the music.

Viktor, the tall Ukrainian in charge of the 'band' saw the small Finnish man and the tall, angry looking Swedish man charging towards them, but knew that his band didn't have time to gather their instruments and jump in the van. He resigned himself to his fate.

"Peter!" Tino grabbed Sealand into a hug, "We were so worried. Why did you run away?"

Sealand struggled against Finland's embrace, "Mom! I'm okay..." he really didn't want his new friends to think he was a mummy's boy. This could ruin his whole new entertainment career.

"You're obviously not!" Finland turned and looked admonishingly at the remaining members of the band.

He was astonished when a mini-skirted young Swedish girl rubbed Peter's head, "He's such a love and I think it's awful how he was treated at home by that awful Uncle Den," she said.

Berwald was less interested in this than in the tall Ukrainian who was hiding under a large felt hat and putting his guitar away.

"Viktor Braginski!" he said and grabbed the young man.

"Mr Sweden, look... I can explain..." Viktor said hurriedly.

"B...B...Braginski?" Sealand looked in horror at the Ukrainian, "Are you Russia's son?" he said in awe.

Sweden didn't give him time to explain, "Yr m'thr will be hearing 'bout this," he said.

Finland then realised why the tall, blond-haired young man was so familiar, "... and I'll tell Mr Russia!" he said.

"Not Uncle Vanya! I just saw him and..."

"You knew who Peter was, you must have done... why didn't you bring him home?" Tino said.

"Well... he kept telling us about this awful Uncle Den, which I thought must be Denmark. And I thought poor kid – having to live with that idiot and he was perfect for this job. We've made loads of money – he looks so cute... although he really needs to learn some new songs..." Viktor tried to explain while Berwald had him by the throat.

Viktor, despite appearances to the contrary, was a gentle, placid soul and totally at odds with his family. A startling mixture of his mother, Ukraine's, looks and his uncle's build and with absolutely none of his aunt Bela's temper and no aptitude for fighting, he had taken to wandering Europe with his travelling band. His mother thought he was in agricultural college, and had been for the last ten years.

Tino considered this, it actually made sense. Anyone being forced to live with Denmark would seriously think of running away – indeed, he himself had thought about not going home after a day at work.

Sweden released the Ukrainian – to his band members' relief, "Hmmm," was all he said. Whether this was a good response to Viktor's reply or not is unsure.

"So... you're not Mr Russia's son?" Peter asked, as Viktor started handing out the shares from the takings that had been thrown in the open guitar case.

"Nyet, I'm Kiev, Ukraine's eldest son. Mr Russia's my uncle and B...B...Belarus..." here Viktor stammered his aunt's name, "... is my auntie."

"Did you say you saw Mr Russia?" Finland asked.

"Erm... I did?" Viktor suddenly appeared very reserved and stopped talking.

"Yes, you did," Sweden said and loomed at him. Viktor was as tall as Sweden and as heavily-built but, unlike his uncle, lacked any aggressive fighting tendencies whatsoever. He had grown up on his mother's farm and over the centuries had learnt it was better to keep out of his mother's siblings' business.

"Erm... I might have..." he said lamely, backing away slowly.

"So Ivan is here in Warsaw?" Finland said.

"Well..." Viktor frowned, thinking hard. He didn't really want to be involved in his uncle's business. He'd seen his uncle Vanya and knew all hell would break loose if Russia had seen him when he was actually playing truant from college. Plus, if his Uncle wanted to go around invading small countries, what was it to do with him? He'd fought in various wars alongside his uncle, aunt and mother, but hated fighting. He wasn't a coward by any means, but by nature was a gentle soul who had hated killing and felt that he wasn't really cut out to be a personification of a city, region and certainly not nation. All he ever wanted to do was ... dance.

"Ivan's in tr'ble... look at my car..." Berwald pointed at what now remained of his Volvo.

"Hmm..." Viktor frowned. Probably, he thought, it was best to say nothing at all.

"Perhaps he's gone to Poland's house?" Finland suggested.

"We'll go there," Sweden said shortly, "He can pay," he added.

"Who, Poland? I doubt if Feliks will pay to have your car fixed, Ber," Tino pointed out.

"No, Ivan."

"Right-o, mum, dad... let's go..." Peter said and jumped in his parents' hire car. The longer they were away from home, the longer away from school, he thought.

* * *

><p>When they arrived at Poland's place, Russia, Latvia, Poland, Lithuania and 'Epicstonia' had left for the airport. However, Denmark and Prussia hadn't. They were arguing in the driveway.<p>

"Aw, man, I thought this was going to be fun... a road trip through Europe paid for by Russkie dude, man. Loadsa girls and beer, you said," Denmark was berating.

"I know, man... but come on. I could be a Nation again... Germany... get in! This awesome painting dude shows us – the world will then know that I, the great Prussia, exists and no-one – those un-awesome fucking Nations can't do nothing about it, man."

Finland shook his head as he heard this account, "Tut tut, a double negative, Gilbert," he said.

"Stop swearing," Sweden told him.

"Aw man, it's Barney and Betty Rubble..." Prussia said.

"Stop calling us that. You, Denmark - you were supposed to be looking after Peter. All you were supposed to do was get him to school... but no, you couldn't do that, could you?" Tino went right up to Denmark and yelled in his face.

Denmark stepped back from the smaller Nation and pointed at Gilbert, "It was his fault!"

"It bloody well wasn't! It was dude chick's!"

"Santa won't be visiting either of you!" Finland told them.

Denmark looked absolutely appalled at this news, "You're joking! Aw, man. I've been really good this year... I haven't left America unconscious anywhere this year and I haven't tried to invade boring old England for ages... It's not fair!"

Sweden ignored him, "Where's Ivan?" he said crossly.

"Big commie dude bastard fucked off to Vienna," Prussia said, lighting up a cigarette. He too was now rather annoyed at the idea of no visit from Santa... not that he believed in any of that 'kiddie crap'.

Sweden stepped forward, took the cigarette from Gilbert's mouth, crushed it between his fingers and said, "Stop swearing."

Gilbert was about to protest but caught the look on Berwald's face. He'd already been punched by one big, six foot tall angry Nation, he really didn't want to be punched by another.

"Right, we're going home! You, Denmark are coming with us..." Finland said, "I've had enough of this."

Sweden and Denmark both protested.

"I need t'see Ivan," Sweden rumbled.

"I'm on holiday with dude Gil!"

Finland ignored them both, "Get in that car, both of you... Peter should be at school, I need to get back to work and you, Matthias..." (Denmark always knew it was a bad sign when Finland used his human name) "... you are going to get a job. Santa needs more packers – you can help wrapping parcels and packing ... it's only two weeks until Christmas."

Denmark looked absolutely appalled, "A job!" In all his centuries of existence, he had never been in bona-fide paid employment. And he didn't think it was time to start now.

"Kesese! You guys kill me! Bye then, Den! I'll see you soon – when I'm back to being King of Germanic Awesomeness, I might just let you visit me and bask in my ultimate awesome presence."

Denmark was thrown bodily into the car by Sweden, who decided that he had better follow his wife's instructions. He would deal with Russia later, he decided.

"Haha! You've got to get a job..." Peter sang happily. He had to go and suffer double geography tomorrow, but at least his 'Uncle Den' would be equally uncomfortable and not sat watching cartoons all day drinking beer.

"Shaddup, kid," Den said grumpily, sat in the back seat with Peter. He waved forlornly at Prussia.

* * *

><p>Prussia waved back. He was alone – again, but he was used to it. Of course he didn't need his 'gang'. He didn't need dude chick or dude Den... although they'd had some fun, he thought. He smiled a little at the remembrance of Latvia finding she was pregnant – by fat commie dude no less, the chaos in the restaurant, in the pharmacy, their totally awesome road trip.<p>

"I don't need them... I'm going to be the most awesome Germany..." he mumbled.

* * *

><p>Warsaw Airport<p>

"Flight 862 to Vienna is delayed for two hours due to a mechanical fault." The tannoy told them.

"Fight 862? What fight?" Russia asked, looking around with wide eyes and starting to get up.

Latvia pulled him back down. Being handcuffed to Russia was not on her top 10 most enjoyable things to do. (Other things she'd done with Russia were though...)

"Sit down, Vanya. It's flight not fight..."

Honestly, she'd been dragged along through the airport terminal whilst they'd rushed to the departure gate and several times she'd told him to slow down. She'd had to run to keep up with his long stride. He also kept forgetting that she was attached to him and several times she found herself lifted in the air by one arm. By alternating with punching him on the arm and patting him on the head (she had to stand on tip-toe to do this) when he did remember, she had managed to not be dragged along the floor and battered and bruised. She'd considered telling him about the baby – that surely should make him stop and think, but then thought about his obvious possessiveness already, she paused.

"Right, that's it. Let's go home," Poland said and picked up his duty free.

"No, Pol. We are going to Vienna to sort out this mess that _you _caused," Toris told him.

Estonia would have agreed with him – if he wasn't surrounded by twittering girls (and a few men) all asking him for his autograph and asking him what film had they seen him in.

Estonia just really wanted to go home now and back to Ukraine, but the thought of an expensive painting – still unsold – attracted him. $50 million? He made a quick calculation. He could actually afford that and decided that if it came to the crunch, he would buy the thing, keep it for a few years and sell it for a massive profit. He could be the hero for a change. The only thing was, how could he explain away the fact that he had that amount of ready cash? His war pension as a Corporal in the Soviet Red Army under General Braginski certainly did not amount to that much.

Truth to be told, Estonia was starting to get a little fed up of being 'sexy'. He wondered actually how France coped with it. The final straw was when the security guard had pinched his bottom.

And being sexy meant no-one took him seriously. When he'd tried to book them in on the flight, the check-in girl had just stared dreamily into his eyes. Even when he'd lost his temper, the girl had just sighed even more.

Russia didn't have this problem. Mr Pipe saw to that and they were upgraded to VIP 1st class seats.

"Can't you just unlock the handcuffs so I can go to the bathroom?" Latvia had pleaded.

"Nyet..." Russia said it in his annoying sing-song voice and smiled warmly at her, ruffling her hair.

"I know but I really need to go..." Latvia said.

Russia frowned. She'd been to the toilet three times in the past two hours. He'd manoeuvred himself quite successfully in Pol's large, garishly pink bathroom so that he had his back to her and had hummed loudly to give her some (in his head) privacy. Then he'd – much to her embarrassment – tried to help her with her underclothes. She'd managed to smack his hand away as he said he was 'helping her with her feminine undergarments'. But the actuality of going into a public ladies toilet was a different matter.

"Are you alright, little Aija? You've been going to the loo a lot..." he asked her, genuinely worried.

"Women's problems," she said and this time, she was the one to pull him up and drag him to the ladies loos.

As it happened, Poland was also going in.

"You're not a girl!" Latvia told him, loudly.

"How do you know?" Pol said, "I can be who I want to be... what gives you the right to tell anyone who they are or aren't?"

"I'm just stating a fact. You're a man..."

Russia laughed behind her, his free arm wrapped around her waist. She shrugged him off and glared at him.

"Well, it doesn't say men aren't allowed..." Poland pointed out.

Latvia shook her head and turned to Russia, "Unlock these cuffs now," she told him.

"Nyet. I can go in with you."

"Oh..." Latvia thought about this, her hands on her hips – meaning one of Russia's hands was also on her hip as well – which seemed to please him and it looked like the other was going to join it, making him smile happily and she felt... well, weird, wobbly and slightly annoyed.

"... So that means you're gender confused as well?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Russia stopped smiling and fished out the key quickly, frowning, he unlocked the cuffs but then smiled. "I'll wait here..." he said.

Latvia ignored him, rubbed her wrist and went in after Poland.

"Smart move," Poland said as he entered a cubicle.

Latvia snarled, "Shut the fuck up," she said.

"Wooah there, little Latty-kins. I ain't got you handcuffed to Braginski. What's your problem anyway? I thought you two were you know...?" Poland asked her from the next cubicle.

"What?" Latvia snarled.

"Oh sweetie, pass me some toilet paper..."

She did.

"Well, sweetie," Poland continued, "I thought you two got it together in the war and were long-lost lovers and all that.. and then again in Vienna the other week. Is it not going well, sweetie? Was big bad Braginski big and bad?"

"What?" Latvia asked, completely baffled.

"Was Braginski crap in bed?" Poland asked and then, alarmingly stood on the toilet seat and craned over the top of the cubicle walls at her.

Latvia hurriedly pulled up her 'feminine under-garments', "I don't know, we were never in a bed," she answered.

"O... M...G... so it _was_ at Rod's place?" Poland asked her, ignoring the tutting and outraged looks from the other users of the convenience.

Latvia sighed. Poland really had no shame whatsoever. She unlocked the cubicle, stepped out and started washing her hands.

"So come on, Latty sweetie, fess up," Poland danced around her, spraying her with water.

"It was in the stable..."

"Haha, this is priceless! You little devil you... and who'd have thought Braginski had it in him? I'm absolutely amazed he knew what he was doing... hahaha!"

Poland said all this very loudly.

Latvia winced and dried her hands, trying desperately to pretend that the small cross-dressing man in the sharp designer suit was not with her.

"... and now he won't let you go, eh?" Poland asked her.

She nodded and felt tears well up.

Poland's broad happy smile shifted and he gently took her in his arms and cuddled her. He glared at the outraged looks on the other convenience users' faces, "Take a hike, bitches," he said, his voice with a hint of steel. The toilets emptied.

"...I don't know what to do, Pol..." she said lamely. It felt very odd being hugged by someone wearing a skirt – even if the Pole did look bloody good in one.

"Come on, sweetie. You tell your Auntie Pol all about it..."

"I'm ... I'm ... pregnant," Latvia gave a sigh of relief that she'd told someone – someone fairly, almost sane and not just those two goons Gil and Den.

"Wooah there, honey!" Poland stepped back and looked into her eyes, "Aw sweetie... are you sure?" Poland asked gently.

She nodded, feeling tears springing to her eyes, "Yes, why shouldn't I be sure?"

"Is it Braginski's?" Poland asked, carefully.

"Of course! How many bloody men do you think I've slept with?" Latvia was outraged.

"Well, Braginski's not exactly that conversant in the bedroom department. I mean I'm amazed he even knew what it was for..."

Latvia gave him a punch and headed out of the door.

Poland stopped her, "Have you told him?" he asked her, "And if not, why not?"

"No... and... well.. if he's like this with me now, what will he be like when he finds I'm pregnant? And besides the last kid he had he sold her to Mr America..." Latvia dried her tears. Man up, Latvia, she told herself. You're going to be a mother – of a Nation, no less – pull yourself together.

"Latty-kins, I've known the big idiot for nigh on four centuries and he really is the big, bad wolf..."

Latvia sighed and nodded and was about to say something when Poland, rather dramatically she thought, put a finger on her lips, "... but deep down, honey, he's a big soft sod. Did you not see him cry at Bambi? I mean, come on, sweetie... oh yes, you weren't there... And Alaska... yes, he had no choice, sweetie. I remember Liet telling me about that. Braginski almost didn't let her go. And then he was useless for months after. His government made him sell her. And then he only let her go when Alfred said he'd bring her up like one of his own. Honestly, he's not a bad father really. Have you ever met Siberia?"

Latvia shook her head and was about to say something else, but couldn't get a word in.

"Siberia's one big bad son of a dude... you wouldn't mess with him, but Braginski did a good job with him. All on his own as well..."

"... I didn't know anything about..." Latvia was about to say 'any other children', but Poland was clearly on a roll. A group of women came into the toilets, but took one look at Poland's stern face – Latvia had never seen him look so serious – and hurried out.

"... You could do a lot worse, sweetie. I mean most of the male Nations are complete arseholes, honey."

Latvia was about to point out that _he _himself was a male Nation, but again, Poland continued, almost without breath, "... apart from Liet of course. He's mine, honey. Not that bitch Natalya's," Poland finally seemed to stop talking and looked her up and down, "Well? Have you finished? I mean, honey, we've been in here ages..."

* * *

><p>Prussia sped along the city centre in his most awesome van which did, absolutely did not, have an un-awesome stink about it.<p>

A decision had been made. He, the most awesome Nation that had ever lived in the history of Nations – even counting Grandpa Rome who Prussia secretly thought sounded like an un-awesome old guy, was going to rescue his dudes, reclaim his title of most awesome dude-ist Nation there ever was, reveal himself to the world – surely he would be the spokesman of Becks beer, and would be fending women off left, right and centre.

* * *

><p>Flight 862 (or Fight 862 as Russia erroneously thought) to Vienna<p>

Prussia really did wonder why he hadn't just driven all the way to Vienna, except it would have taken... oh he didn't know... loads of hours anyway. By the time he'd got there the painting would have been gone and so would have his chances of multiple interviews with the world's press about 'how to be a successful nation'. Instead he was here, on this flight, having rescued Den at some traffic lights – the gormless Dane jumping out of Sweden and Finland's hire car and jumping in his awesome van and they'd sped off before that equally gormless Swede (although Pru would never say this to Berwald's face) had figured.

But he wasn't even sat in comfort, drinking beer, farting and spraying peanuts everywhere as he normally did on aeroplanes. No, he was stuck in the aeroplane toilet cubicle with gormless Den. When he'd told Den to shut up and be quiet as they'd seen fat commie bastard being totally un-awesome in first class, not because he was scared, but because he didn't want Russia to have the heads-up before he rescued dude chick, Den had yelled, 'Why?' and they'd crammed themselves in the toilet. Unfortunately, they found they couldn't unlock the damned door.

Den did not seem to find any of this unusual and had whistled, done his 'business', which had made Gilbert almost retch – he'd had enough of the big Dane's toilet habits to last him a life-time. The guy had no aim whatsoever. But at least he wasn't wearing a Viking helmet, a traffic cone or carrying his axe (pardon the pun).

"Have you always been this stupid? Or have you taken lessons?" Gilbert asked him.

Denmark considered this, quite seriously, his big blond head tilted and then answered, truthfully, "I took lessons, ja! Hey, I had a King called Gorm once!"

Latvia, practically sat on Russia's lap, Ivan's lips nuzzling her neck watched, mouth agape as her two 'rescuers' bundled themselves into the tiny toilet cubicle ... and didn't come back out. Poland, across the aisle from her, leaned across and whispered, "Hey Latty sweetie, did you see Gil and Den? What a pair of losers..." She nodded, laughing.

"Wut?" Russia asked. But to be fair, he was on cloud nine, he had Latvia snuggled up next to him and all was well in the world.

Two rows behind them were a full row of Elvis impersonators and behind them, a row of shaven-headed young men with Swastika tattoos – all glaring at the big Russian with murder in their eyes.

**Author's Notes:**

**Viktor Braginski (aka Kiev) is an OC created by VengefulCat – she kindly gave me permission to use him. Did anyone notice that he also makes a guest appearance in a chapter of A Day In the Life? Also Siberia is also an OC created by VengefulCat and is Russia's son.**

**It's true – there was a King Gorm the Old of Denmark.**

**Next Chapter: silliness in Toys R Us and how to buy a Nation, oh and another lost family member turns up...**


	28. Summer Son

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. Nor do I own Toys R Us or any of its subsidiaries.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourite (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

Warnings: Do not try this at your local Toys R Us Store, lots of crack, also some foreshadowing from previous chapters comes out

Again, apologies for the confusion of earlier chapters - all sorted now...

Chapter 27 – Summer Son

Vienna

An assortment of Nations fell out of the taxi – fell out being the only word to describe the entanglement of limbs accompanied by swearing and shouting as they landed in a heap at the entrance to the largest toy supermarket in Vienna.

It should have been a simple affair. Surely shopping for a few 'disguises' should be easy, right? Wrong. America 'took charge' or attempted to.

"Right, I'm the Hero, so I will take charge of this trolley..." he announced. "Tony dude ..."

Antonio looked around sleepily, he had not had his afternoon siesta and really wished his lover, Herakles, was with him to share it. "Si?" he asked.

"You go along to the weapons department..."

But he was interrupted by the argument that had broken out between England and Austria, "I am not paying... I don't have any Austrian dollars or whatever the bloody hell it is you lot use..."

"Why am I paying for everything? And its schillings, not dollars..."

"Because this is your country... and I didn't bloody know that. You should have good old British sterling."

"Dudes, dudes... come on..."

"Come on, Natalya, we're going into Babys R Us..."

"What the bloody hell for?" Arthur asked.

"We don't need to answer to you, Arthur. Sod off," Hungary responded.

"Well, I say. Is it just me or are the girls getting more and more rambunctious as the day goes on?" Arthur asked no-one in particular.

Austria did not answer, he was sadly getting out his wallet to pay the taxi driver. As he did so, Hungary leaned in and stole his credit card.

"I'll take that..." she said sweetly. Austria knew better than to argue.

"I have no idea, dude. What's rambunctious?" Alfred said, his brow knitting. However, his mood lifted as he picked out a huge trolley and took off into the store. Stepping backwards and forwards on the mat so the automatic doors opened and shut.

Francis followed, sighing heavily, "Do you think I will ever get my honhonhon back, Arthur?" he asked.

Arthur was tempted to say, "I bloody hope not," but was too busy watching Belarus and Hungary commandeer a huge shopping trolley and, armed with Austria's credit card head for the nearby Babys R Us. Why were they going in there?

"Winnie the Pooh, Batman, Robin, some Supergirl costume..." Alfred read off his list and looked at Francis with a querying look, "Are you up for this, Francis? I mean if you don't think you can dress up...?" he let the question hang.

Francis would have, at one time been in high spirits at being asked to 'dress up' – and would no doubt have insisted on going to one of the less salubrious shops in town, however, he now just slouched along, with his hands in his pockets.

"Tomatoman!" Antonio yelled from the other side of the store.

"Bloody stupid Spaniard, there is no such thing..." Arthur yelled back.

"What about Germany and Italy or... whatever they are now?" Alfred asked Arthur.

"Don't bother... leave them out of this. If we take them along Italy or Germany or whichever it is will just cry in a corner waving a white flag while Germany or Italy will start shouting and just take over."

"Good point, dude."

"So, what about Vash and Lily?" Arthur asked.

"Dunno, dude..." Alfred looked across the store where Vash was examining the toy guns with great interest, goth-punk Lily stood beside him chewing her lip and occasionally rubbing her feet.

"Well, he did say he'd help us get into the bank..."

Alfred wasn't listening but was instead throwing Star Wars merchandise into the trolley.

"America? Oh for God's sake, we are here to get disguises you big lunk..."

Over in the Babys R Us section, Belarus and Hungary were 'test-driving' some prams. Both women were getting more and more excitable.

"Oh look at this one, Liz," Belarus squealed, using the other Nation's human name for the first time, "It's got teddies on the hood!"

"I like this one... it's got small wheels, I bet it takes corners really fast!"

Belarus was hugging a huge pink teddy to her chest and piling baby throws, cot mobiles and pink baby clothes into the trolley, she held up a particularly horrid and scary looking doll at Hungary and said, "I've got to have this!" she then added hurriedly, "Are you sure Mr Austria won't mind us getting all this?"

"Mind? Mind?" Hungary all but shouted. Belarus backed off quickly, "he'd better bloody not mind."

"Perhaps we should ask him before..." Belarus started to say. She could only imagine England's reaction if they spent up to... her eyes widened as she eyed the price on the prams alone... £1000 on his credit card.

"Ask him? Nope, I'm going to tell him," Hungary said resolutely.

"You should tell him that you know this baby is his," Belarus said carefully.

"I will, in good time," Hungary said and sniffed. His reaction had not been promising and her pride had been dented. She hadn't expected him to leap about ecstatically but neither had she expected the look of horror on his face. That's why she'd lied. And now she was beginning to regret it. "You need to tell Arthur... perhaps that kiss between him and Alfred was just... I don't know a mistake?"

Belarus nodded, "I will, but ... oh I wish big brother was here," she sniffed and was about to cry when her eye was drawn to a Moses basket with pink ribbons.

* * *

><p>Vienna<p>

Belarus's wishes were about to come true.

Big brother Ivan, together with Latvia, Poland, Lithuania and Estonia (still in possession of France's superpowers) arrived at Austria's mansion. They expected it to be the strategy headquarters of the Save the Painting Conglomerate (which is what Alfred had called it – although he couldn't say Conglomerate so called it a Conga), with America, England, Austria, Hungary, probably Belarus (Russia wasn't sure but hoped not and if she was he hoped she was still wrapped around England) and Spain. What they found was a small Italian man goose-stepping up and down the lawn counting in German – which made Russia twitch uncontrollably and Germany asleep in the drawing room, wearing very little and having a 'siesta'.

To say they were surprised would be an understatement in surprise, they would have been less surprised if they'd found ... England and Germany snogging on a couch, the former declaring that he'd always wanted to learn German whilst the latter was wearing a floral dress, or Austria throwing high denomination notes around and telling everyone to 'spend, spend, spend' or Lily in a gothic gear with multiple piercings and tattoos.

"Well..." Pol said as he inspected the sleeping German, "He looks quite cute when he's asleep and not shouting or invading small countries." This is probably the first and only time in Germany's long life that he'd ever been described as 'cute'. Pol continued, looking at the German's 1960's hippy couture, "But he really needs a make-over..."

Russia would really have liked to see Germany have a Polish make-over but he was trying to get some sense out of the small Italian.

"Where is everybody?" he asked Feliciano.

Feliciano looked him up and down and said, "Call yourself a soldier? Stand up straight, don't slouch..."

Latvia, who was still handcuffed to Russia, opened her mouth, completely aghast. Russia, predictably pulled back his left arm – he almost forgot and was about to use his right arm with Latvia attached to it until she squeaked – to punch the Italian out when Latvia stopped him.

"Vanya, I don't think he's himself. I'm sure he would never say such things..." she peered at the Italian. What on earth was going on?

Russia was unsure about all this. He was also much perturbed by the plethora of noisy German builders who seemed to be milling about. So many Germans to punch, so little time... not that Russia was on a timetable or anything.

Outside in the driveway, a garbage disposal truck pulled up. Nothing unusual in this one might say, however, the occupants were not Council employees but one drunken Danish Nation minus his perky hat (he'd grumbled the whole way, believing erroneously that it had fallen down the aeroplane toilet, in fact Sealand had stolen it and was now wearing it on the way back to Helsinki) and one sober Prussian.

"You're really good at nicking trucks, dude," Denmark said, still rubbing his blond head regretfully.

"I'm borrowing it, dude."

"Ja. If you were this good at being a Nation as you are at nicking stuff then you would still be the awesome Prussia, ja?"

"Fuck off."

In fact, they'd exited the airport just after un-awesome fat commie dude, weird gay cross-dresser, Toris (Casanova) Laurinaitis, geeky dude and girly chick dude – all Prussia's 'pet names'. It was Den who had spotted the truck and laughed at the manufacturer plate on the front 'Dennis'. "Haha! Named after me... kind of... yay!"

"It's Dennis, not Den... and... oh..." Prussia had then shoved the Council operatives out of the way, shoved the large Nordic into the cabin of the truck and drove off, with several bins still attached to the rear of the vehicle. They were going to rescue dude girly chick from the dominion of fat commie bastard and regain Prussia's status as a Nation.

But when they arrived at Austria's mansion, they found the same weirdness as Russia, Latvia, Estonia, Poland and Lithuania.

However, the weirdness was about to go up several levels from a measly 4 or 5 to 10.

"Dude?" a German voice called.

Prussia looked around. Only a few people called him dude, one of them was not his bruder (Ludwig usually called him, amongst other things 'lazy sack', 'disgusting creature' and 'sorry excuse for a Nation').

"Dude... dude Dad?" the voice called.

Prussia's eyes widened when he saw the stringy-muscled, silver-haired young man, wearing a hard hat and, like all builders, with a pencil behind one ear and a large mug of tea in one hand.

"Dude... kid?" Prussia asked.

The builder, or 'Mickie the Bricky' as his 'colleagues' called him, or that 'ignorant little turd' (as Austria had called him due to the fact the young bricklayer had coined the name 'Woderwick' for Austria) approached the two Nations.

Denmark almost fell over in surprise, "Dude? You've got a dude kid, dude?"

"Ja... I think..." Prussia was as shocked as Den.

However, the similarities were unmistakable. (Austria had perhaps seen it, subconsciously, but had shoved it to the back of his mind.) The silver hair, the arrogant swagger, the devilish red eyes that took in everything, the smirk - no-one could think he was anyone else's kid.

"Kaliningrad?" Prussia asked, carefully.

'Mickie the Brickie' nodded, "Ja. Fat commie dude tried to annex me along with Konigsburg," he said using the German name for the Russian enclave, "But I escaped, awesome!"

"Awesome!" Prussia agreed and they high-fived.

Denmark was astounded and, for once, in his long life, dumb-struck. "Who's his mum?" he asked, daringly.

"Erm..." here Prussia was unsure, "Sorry, I can't remember... I bet it was a gorgeous underwear model, ja!"

Kaliningrad or Konigsburg shook his head, "Ma was a Russian and made tractors, she was called Olga and she said if she got hold of you she was going to kick your arse."

"Oh ja, I remember..." Prussia indicated to his son that he was to shut his fat mouth, he had an image to uphold in front of Denmark, "She was a famous model..."

Denmark was enjoying this, "I thought you hated Russians, dude?"

Kaliningrad/Konigsburg nodded, "She was on the cover of Tractor monthly..."

Prussia rubbed his son's head, "Okay, gotta go, here's my number," he wrote Germany's home number on Kaliningrad's hand with a felt-tip pen and waved, "I gotta rescue a dude chick. But call me and we'll go drinking and see a movie."

"Kesese! Bye dude Dad!" Kaliningrad yelled. He turned to his astonished building colleagues, "That was my Dad! Awesome!"

But Prussia's 'dude girly chick rescuing plan' was not going to go according to the strategy he'd made up in his awesome head. For a start, Prussia was dismayed to find, as he and Den crouched in the bushes (which was an experience in itself and not one he ever wanted to repeat) that Latvia was still handcuffed to Russia. Sure, he could get hold of Latvia, but he had not factored in having to disengage her from the fat commie dude. He certainly did not think Russia would willingly come with them or willingly let Latvia go and he had no intention of outright antagonising the big Russian.

So they waited. Surely, he thought, the big Russian had to let Latvia go to the toilet occasionally and then they would dive in rescue her and go get that painting and reveal how he was the awesome Prussia.

"What're we doing again?" Denmark asked, chugging his last beer bottle and throwing it (to Austria's later outrage) into a bush.

"Rescuing girly chick dude," Prussia answered.

"Who from again?"

Prussia sighed. If he'd had a choice in the matter, he would not have chosen Den as an accomplice. The big Dane had clearly been at the back of the queue when God handed brains out. Although when Prussia peered through the window at Russia he thought the big Russian looked as if he wasn't that far behind Den.

Russia was clasping Latvia in his arms (or one arm as the other was attached to hers) and snuffling the top of her head in a way that made Gilbert retch. Ivan also had a big silly dreamy smile on his face. Latvia was half listening to the Italian who was telling them that 'Allied forces had retreated to Toys R Us'. She surmised this meant America, England and France.

"Is Hungary with them?" she asked as she tried to bat Russia away.

Russia just seemed to think her smacking of him was 'cute', and he smiled dreamily.

"I don't know, how should I know? Stop asking stupid questions."

Russia snarled at this.

Italy may have German tendencies all of a sudden, but a coward's heart still beat deep within him and he amended this quickly to: "Si, si..."

"Right, that's where we're going..." she informed Russia.

Russia was about to complain and then hurriedly shut up, when he saw the determined look on her face.

"We'll wait here..." Poland informed her.

Lithuania shook his head, "Oh no, we're going with them. All this mess was caused by you, Pol, and you are going to help sort it out."

So that's where they went – all crammed in Austria's tiny Citroen car. Russia was sure he'd been in that vehicle before and had been crammed into the back, no less. He was not wrong on that score.

Estonia, wisely, told them he would stay behind – he was chatting with the German builders' foreman about building contracts and the possibility of a new hotel complex 'Von Bock Enterprises' were about to build.

Prussia and Den jumped back in 'their' garbage disposal truck and took off after the four Nations. Closely following the rusting Citroen and the truck were two hire cars – one containing four Elvis impersonators, the other containing a number of skinheads with swastika tattoos. An eclectic mixture of pursuers it is admitted, however, they all had one thing in common – all swearing vengeance on the 'big blond Russian'.

* * *

><p>Warsaw, Poland<p>

"Put your hand in this pocket ... this pocket... no... my right... which is your left..." the speaker sounded exasperated and in fact she was very exasperated. How could it be that she, one of the most highly-trained and fastest promoted female in the Service could end up here? Tied hand to foot and bound to a moron.

"Si... si... your hair is very preety..." Romano said as he wriggled around and tried to put his hand in her pocket.

"Stop kissing me..." Major Bollockoff said, again. She looked into the Italian's amber eyes, "Will you just get that bloody knife and then we're out of here," she said for the fortieth time. "How stupid are you?"

Romano seemed to seriously consider this, "I am not as stupido as my little brother... he spends too mucha time with potato bastard... I have had a very lonely childhood... I was not looked after very well as a child... I had to live with tomato bastard. He made me dance..." Romano turned big, puppy dog eyes on the KGB Major, who was trying very very hard not to melt...

_Remember your training... remember your training... _She thought and then he kissed her again.

* * *

><p>Toys R Us, Vienna<p>

"There's Hungary!" Latvia yelled and almost pulled Russia off his feet. She pointed at the Hungarian woman who was speeding up and down the aisles of the Babys R Us area of Toys R Us with a large 'off-road' pushchair.

"Why is she looking at baby stuff?" Russia asked, his eyes wide.

There was no time for any answer – coherent or otherwise – as America yelled ear-splittingly across the store, "Yo, Russkie dude, my main man!"

Russia visibly winced. Latvia was dragging him towards Hungary and Belarus. Seeing his little sister's demonic look – her arms full of baby stuff, pink teddies etc and surmising that she was having one of her 'phantom pregnancies', he pulled the key out of his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. He was rewarded by a hug and a kiss from Latvia before she dashed off.

He stood in a daze with a hand on his lips where she'd kissed him. Did she just kiss him? Willingly?

However, he was shoved forward by Poland who said, "Come on you big lunk, let's see what flyboy is up to."

It was testament to how dreamy Russia's mood was as Pol didn't end up being scraped off the ceiling.

It wasn't long before a hasty world meeting took place in aisle 4 next to the Stars Wars memorabilia and across from the Disney Princess aisle.

"A bank job, dudes."

"Keep your bloody voice down!"

"I am not wearing that..."

"Si! I wanted to be Tomatoman!"

"Why are Hungary and Belarus in Babys R Us, da?"

"They are? Good Lord!" Arthur almost fainted.

"Dude... rock out! Arty's gonna be a Dad!"

"I am?" England went pale and promptly fainted clean away.

Russia gave a sigh of relief.

Austria looked uncomfortable.

France stood and snivelled.

"Mr France, Ed has got your honhonhons," Pol said of matter-of-factedly and began examining a Cinderella outfit – adjust the bodice and it would be a perfect fit.

"Ah sacre bleu!"

England stood up – with Alfred's help. "I'm going to be a Dad!"

"Mon dieu, zere are zo many things I could zay to zis!"

"You're already my Dad!" Alfred said, much annoyed.

"I'm not your bloody father!"

"You have to marry my little sister now that you have taken her virtue," Russia informed Arthur.

Several male nations (France, Spain, America) all looked very shifty.

Lithuania sighed, "If you don't marry her Mr England, then I will... if that's okay with you, Mr Russia," he said, hopefully.

Russia had always wondered about the normally sane Lithuania's obvious crush on his little sister and sometimes, for purely selfish reasons, had encouraged it, hoping Belarus would one day reciprocate and leave him alone. But Katya and Poland had pointed out that Belarus would probably end up living in his house which was almost as bad – he would have got no peace at all.

"Nyet, she will marry Mr England and live in London and..." here Ivan dragged Arthur into a huge bear hug, "... Arthur and I will be brothers-in-law..."

England went very pale.

"Haha! Rock out! Look at dude Arty's face!"

"... and the wedding will be in England and we are all invited!" Russia continued, a horrid gleam in his eyes.

"I say!" England spluttered.

"Whoop whoop! I can be best man! Get in!" America yelled, shoving a Princess Leia costume in his trolley.

Before anyone could ask who the costume was for, Antonio, who had been perusing the shelves looking vainly for a 'Tomatoman' custome and now stood next to Russia, was knocked out by a very well aimed 'Mr Spell' which, as it hit his head and knocked him out, spelt out "S...t...u...p...i...d". It got no further before Russia crushed it between his hands.

"Tony dude, you okay?" America asked the unconscious Spaniard.

'Tony dude' was out for the count, so Alfred merely picked him and dumped him in a nearby trolley – unfortunately, not their trolley. (Tony Dude was later bought by a rather conservative Austrian family with three children who were all delighted with their purchase.)

"Who would do this?" Arthur asked, looking around totally outraged.

He soon got an answer. Four Elvis impersonators and six skinheads were approaching them. One of the skinheads – the largest and ugliest – waved a baseball bat (with a price-tag still attached) at Russia. "Our arguments with him, not you, so butt out, stupid pansy gay Englishman."

"Well, I say!" Arthur said, again. "Bloody Germans!" (Actually there were a mixture of Estonian/Lithuanian – but to Arthur this was all one and the same.)

Alfred picked up a light-sabre, threw one to Russia and another to Arthur and said, in his best Hero voice, "Nobody calls my friends pansies, gay or fat," he said, "...only me. Come on dudes, if you think you're hard enough!"

And with that, Alfred switched on his light-sabre and faced his foes – who were all evil storm-troopers (in his head).

Someone had to show Arthur and Ivan how to switch their light-sabres on and Austria whined, "Well, I see! So I don't get one? Well, isn't that nice? I'm not buying one... have you seen the price...?"

To be continued...

**Author's Notes:**

**At the end of Baltics Secrets I mentioned that Spain and Greece had become an 'item'.**

**Most of the dustbin lorries in Britain are 'Dennis' made, as are the buses. When I was a kid I thought that's what their names were...**

**Future chapters: we find out who Lily's secret 'lover' is, a 'death', Grandpa Rome and other retired Nations, a bank job goes wrong.**


	29. Take on Me

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. Nor do I own Toys R Us or any of its subsidiaries.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: Swearing, stupidity, Star Wars references, a cliffhanger**

Chapter 28 – Take on Me

Thurs pm, Toy R Us, Vienna

"Let's fuck some shit up!" America yelled and swished his light-sabre around.

England was appalled, "I did not bring you up to say things like that!" he said.

"How do you switch this on? Does it slice through bodies?" Russia asked, completely bewildered as America backflipped past him and started hitting a shaven-headed simian-looking individual around the head with his 'Luke Skywalker' special.

Russia was usually not slow in coming forward when a fight was in the offing, particularly where neo-Nazi thugs were concerned, however, he was fascinated by the 'hum' of his light-sabre once Austria had switched it on for him. It was far better than the one he'd used at Halloween.

However, as a weapon it did not compare with Mr Pipe as it broke over an Elvis look-alike, who went down with a "Vegas, man!"

America, however was back-flipping and somersaulting his way up and down the aisle yelling and, at one point, brandishing two light-sabres, whilst knocking out skinheads.

Poland and Lithuania wisely stepped out of the way, the former Nation holding various Disney princess costumes in his arms, the latter – seeing his boss' pulsating aura and knew what was coming – headed for the exit.

Austria informed anyone who would listen that he would have nothing to do with such vulgarity and headed off to find Hungary in (here he gulped) Babies R Us.

England had managed to find a rubber cutlass and was putting his sword-fighting skills to the test. But he was thwarted by America's manic 'leaping around' (Arthur's words for America's athleticism) and Russia's combo fighting skills of face-palming and embedding Mr Pipe into skulls.

* * *

><p>In Babies R Us, the female Nations, oblivious to the massacre occurring in the other part of the store, were discussing the differing qualities of cots and baby baths.<p>

"Why are they always decorated with teddies and ribbons?" Belarus asked. It seemed to be a normal question and Hungary was about to answer when she added, "... why not knives?"

Latvia's eyes widened, "Why are you looking at cots and baby stuff? Are you two...?"

"Yes, we are ..."

"Ooohh..." Latvia smiled, "...That's... cute..." she added lamely.

Hungary waved a teddy at her and said most menacingly, "Cute? Really? You think so?"

Latvia was impressed that the waving of a cute fluffy stuffed toy could appear so threatening, however she ploughed on, "I need your help, Miss Hungary..." she began.

"Ooooh?"

"Yes, you see... I'm pregnant and..." here she faltered as Belarus spun around to glare at her. She couldn't really say anything negative in front of Russia's little crazy-as-a-frog sister could she? She could end up diced and her entrails being used a cot mobile for the Belarusian's child.

"Are you carrying Vanya's baby?" Belarus asked, coming closer and gazing at Latvia's stomach with a strange look on her face.

Latvia was seriously creeped out now and considered backing off and going back to Russia. At least, for the first time in several days, she'd felt safe handcuffed to him, even if she had been lifted in the air several times and had to go to the bathroom in front of him.

"What did I tell you? To be careful... honestly, sweetie, the big goon..." Hungary was saying and then hurriedly shut up when she saw Belarus' face. Would the obsessive sister return...

Belarus hesitated, her eyes started to fill with tears, "It's so... it's so..." she spluttered.

Latvia backed off as Belarus pulled out her favourite knife. She was going to kill her, she thought. The girl had finally snapped. Her jealousy had hit back and she was going to kill her and her baby and chase Vanya and there was nothing she could do. Well, there was, she thought, she could run. So she did. She shot out of the fire exit, panting and hit the pavement running, not looking back. Didn't Belarus always say she would kill any girl who so much as looked at her beloved big brother?

Belarus wiped a tear from her and held up her favourite knife, "You know... it's so lovely I wanted Natasha to share the news..." she sniffed.

Hungary was just staring at the open fire exit. Actually, she thought, she would have run as well. "Natasha?" she asked, completely bewildered.

"My favourite knife... It's so... so lovely... we can all be one big happy family. Me, Arthur, Vanya and little Raivis. And my little girl and her little girl will be best friends forever..." Belarus said with a creepy little smile on her face.

"Er... yeah," Hungary managed to say.

"Elizaveta!" came a voice which pulled Hungary back from thinking about her fellow female Nation's sanity.

She turned to see her ex-husband approaching cautiously. He had the poise of someone entering a lion's den. In fact, Belarus snarled at him and then shoved another pile of creepy-looking dolls into the trolley.

"What do you want?" Hungary asked him, her arms folded, looking him up and down. What had she been thinking? Useless aristocrat, couldn't fight, mean with money, moaned about everything and everybody, hypochondriac. She was still mentally listing all Austria's faults in his head when she caught the tail end of his speech – the one he'd been nervously spouting for the past five minutes.

"... don't care, as long as you're okay..." he finished lamely.

"What?" she said, actually more curtly than she meant.

Austria was about to remonstrate that she should have been listening and why should he go through it all again, when he saw the look of annoyance on her face. "Liz I love you, so I love your child and I'll take care of you and the baby and help out and I don't care who the father is, it doesn't matter as long as you're okay..."

Belarus was still holding 'Natasha' and looked Austria up and down interestedly, and then burst into tears again – for the sixth time that day.

Austria turned to Belarus, "Oh and Miss Belarus... England knows you're pregnant..." he said, deflecting from the fact that Hungary had still not said anything.

Hungary was actually in shock. It had been the last thing that she expected Austria to say. Her Hungarian pride had been dented and she'd been expecting a fight and was armed – with a rather large stuffed tiger no less – to do battle. She had no doubt in her mind that she could easily beat up her ex-husband with a plush toy. So his speech actually made her stop and think. She could tell him he was the father, she could tell him that she didn't need any man, she could tell him to go and boil his head... all these things appealed, strangely.

Belarus, however, stopped whatever physical, mental or verbal traumas Hungary was about to visit upon Austria by running up to him and hugging him.

Austria blushed madly, "Oooh!" he said, completely taken aback.

"Did he seem pleased?" she asked timidly.

Austria considered England's complete shock, America's yells, Russia's assertions that England and Belarus should be married and they would all be 'invited' and the fact that Hungary was waving a large plush stuffed tiger at him, took the easy option and nodded.

Belarus pulled away, having soaked Austria's velvet jacket with her tears, she spun around, mouthed at Hungary _'tell him'_ and, scarily brandishing 'Natasha' took off into the other part of the store to find the father of her child.

* * *

><p>"It's dude chick!" Den yelled, his mad stuck-up blond head sticking out of the dustbin lorry window like a large Labrador. "Slow down, dude!"<p>

Prussia did... by slamming his foot on the brake and skidding up the pavement.

It was indeed 'dude chick' and 'dude chick' was running down the pavement towards them looking upset and lost – in their eyes at least.

"Hey dude girly chick! We've come to rescue you from fat commie bastard!" Prussia yelled at her.

"Nah, man we haven't, we were going to get some beer, man..." Denmark argued.

"Shut up, fool."

Latvia felt some relief at seeing the two 'goons' as she liked to term them. At least they didn't attempt to handcuff her, stick knives in her or otherwise force her into things.

She opened the wagon door and peered in, "Where did you get this... erm... vehicle?" she asked.

"It's cool eh?"

'Cool' was not a term that Latvia would have used, she scrunched her nose up. If anything this lorry smelled worse than the van.

"Get in, chick..." Den motioned to her from the passenger seat... "Loads of room... you can sit on my knee..."

A purple aura pulsated around her and she growled, "Shove your fat arse across you big goon, I ain't sitting on your knee..." she said and thumped him for good measure.

"Jeez..." Den said.

Prussia raised an eyebrow.

* * *

><p>Back to Toys R Us<p>

America was stood on a pile of groaning bodies, brandishing not one, not two but three light-sabres, wearing a stolen Jedi cloak and declaring himself the 'hero'.

England threw his cutlass away in disgust. "Bloody foreigners."

Belarus ran into his arms, "Oooh Arthur!" she cried.

England was confused, he wondered if it was because of his voicing his distrust of foreigners or because he was wearing a pirate hat. He didn't complain, however, but put his arms around her and held her tight, "I love you, my little snookums..." he murmured.

France, who had been hiding the whole time in a 'bargain bin' of cabbage patch dolls, was appalled "Snookums? Snookums? Once upon a time you were my leetle... oh I cannot bear zis..." he said, his hand to his forehead in despair.

Russia, who was still trying to get his light-sabre out of a man's skull, was suddenly swept off his feet by a small Germanic girl.

"Mr Russia... I mean... er... Vanya!" Lily exclaimed, much to Russia's surprise. He wasn't used to young female Nations accosting him and hugging him, much less calling him 'Vanya'. Hitting him with frying pans, threatening him with knives, batting him around the head and, in the case of his big sis, saying 'What on earth do you think you're doing', but hugging him... no.

Lily clung to him with a pleading look in her eyes and looked around feverishly for her big brother. Vash came skidding around the corner with his rifle and stopped dead. He'd been trying, since the fight had broken out, to get Lily out of harms way, however, she'd clung to the exit door with a tenacity that had totally blown his mind. Now, seeing his sister hugging the big Russian, several other brain cells also exploded.

"Russia! Russia! He is... your..." Vash's face went beetroot red and he raised his rifle.

Lily nodded and stood on tiptoes, pulled Russia's head down to hers and kissed him full on the lips and then pulled away with a triumphant smile on her face.

Russia almost fainted with shock.

"Mr R... Vanya is my secret lover... you said Icy wasn't good enough for me... well, is Mr Russia good enough?" Liechtenstein announced as loudly as she could.

Tumbleweed appeared to blow through the store.

Hungary and Austria, the former still glaring, albeit a little more kindly, at the former, walked in.

America started laughing, "Ah man, this is just hilarious!"

Vash raised his rifle at Russia, "You... you... my little Lily... she..." he spluttered.

Hungary stepped forward and took Lily by the hand, dragging her away from the bewildered Russian, "Lily, honey... Russia? I mean, really?" she said.

"It's got nothing to do with you!" Lily exclaimed, pulling away. "None of you take me seriously. You all think I'm small and defenceless and can't take care of myself..."

Austria stepped forward, "Miss Lily... you see..."

"You shut up as well, Mr Austria... it's got nothing to do with you, either or Miss Hungary. I'm fed up of this. Vash thinks I need looking after all the time. You all think Icy is not good enough for me..."

"I never said that!" Austria said.

"Shut up, Roddie... the girl is right, we have no right to say anything..." Hungary said quietly.

"None of you understand me... only Icy... and I love him..." Lily said and then burst into tears and buried her face in Russia's chest.

Russia frowned. This was another thing he was unused to – girls burying their faces in his chest – well, actually as Lily only came up to his waist – his stomach.

"She's right, the poor girl. Vash should just stay out of it," Austria said.

"Russia, get your hands off her!" Hungary suddenly said and tried to pull Lily away.

Russia ignored her and kept his arms wrapped around the weeping girl. He had no idea what was happening, only a young girl was upset and he was getting angry. Someone had upset poor little, innocent Lily.

"Yes, get off her, or you will feel the edge of my blade..." Austria said, ineffectually actually as he had no 'blade' and the last time he'd attempted a duel with Russia the results had been pretty bad.

Russia growled menacingly.

Lily unburied her face and turned to Austria, "If I want to stay with Mr Russia, I will... if I go off with a dozen men, it's got nothing to do with you. You're not my brother!" she said.

Russia nodded, but looked worried when she mentioned his name.

"No, I'm not your brother... I'm your father!" Austria suddenly shouted.

Hungary groaned, Belarus looked from Hungary to Austria and Lily and then back again, realisation dawning. England's eyes widened 'dear Lord!' he muttered. France mumbled 'Mon dieu!', whilst America, ever subtle, yelled, "Hahaha! This is hilarious, that's like what you did to me the other week, Arty!"

There was silence. Lily stared at Austria as if she'd never seen him before.

"...and I'm your mother..." Hungary said quietly.

Lily opened her mouth to say something and instead turned to Vash for help – something she'd sworn she would never do again. However, Vash was still stood with his rifle raised, his face frozen in a rictus of horror – in fact his whole body looked as if it were paralysed. Which in fact, it was.

"Vash... bruder..." Lily ran to him and waved a hand in front of his face... nothing.

* * *

><p>"Where are we going?" Latvia said, her thigh touching Den's, his beer-breath in her face, she felt slightly sick.<p>

"Party on, man..." Den yelled, "Got the band back together!"

"That's not an answer..." Latvia said with a sigh. Why was it she'd not felt in the least bit nauseous when with Russia?

"Back to specs' house to see bruder and tell him I'm going to take over as Germany, man." Pru yelled.

"I wish you'd both stop yelling..."

"...and tell my dude kid he can be Prussia..."

"...Wait what?"

* * *

><p>Toys R Us<p>

A total of six ambulances, four police cars and an Austrian embassy car pulled up. It took three paramedics to carry Switzerland out to the ambulance. He was stiff as a board and looked like a life-size cardboard cut-out. Nobody could get the rifle out of his hands, unless someone broke his fingers – Russia offered this service but was refused.

Lily jumped into the ambulance with her dear 'bruder'.

"Shall I come with you, Lily?" Hungary asked quietly. After so long, it felt kind of a relief that their secret was out.

"Well... okay..." here Lily hesitated and then added, "...Mum..."

Hungary almost wept with joy and, ignoring Austria's helping hand, jumped into the ambulance.

"I have some questions for you, though..." Lily started.

"... I know..."

Lily sighed as the ambulance door closed and gently held Vash's hand which felt as hard as a statue. "Is Vash really my brother?"

"No."

"Oh. Are you really my mother?"

"Yes."

"Oh. And Austria's my father?"

"Yes."

"Why did you never say?"

Hungary wiped away a tear and glanced at the statue-like Swiss Nation. "It's a long story..." she began. She glanced out of the window to see bodies being piled up in ambulances and an Austrian government official trying to explain the Nations' many mental problems to the police.

"It's a long way to the hospital," Lily said, a determined look on her face.

"We loved you very much..." Hungary began and wiped another stray tear from her eyes.

* * *

><p>Austria's mansion<p>

"Woohoo! Dude kid!" Pru yelled out of the driver's window as they sped down the driveway.

"Will you stop yelling... and slow down!" Latvia said desperately. Her stomach roiled and she really felt she was going to vomit all over Den.

Pru yelled back at her, "You gotta meet my dude kid, dude chick..." he waved out of the window at, what Latvia would only have described as an uncouth, ape-like young man with shocking silver hair and red eyes. The youth waved back.

Den, uncharacteristically sensible, for the first time that century, yelled, "Slow down, dude and watch the road..."

"Hey, man, I'm an ace driver..." Prussia answered.

Famous last words... the truck veered off the driveway, went straight through a hedge, over Austria's prized lawn and ... straight into the newly-built and just finished heart-shaped swimming pool where it sank rather awesomely to the bottom.

To be continued...

**Author's Notes:**

**Yes, a cliffhanger... I did promise a death... you'll have to wait and see.**

**Yes, Lily is HungaryxAustria's child. (In my headcanon she is anyway, you can disagree of course, remember dudes it's just a story). Her story will be explained soon enough.**

**Next Chapter:**

**More angst, a rescue – maybe, explanations.**


	30. Rescue Me

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: Angst, history and stupidity**

Chapter 29 – Rescue Me

"Right ... to the bank... get this outfit on, Arty dude... Russkie dude you can wear that Darth Vader gear and ... oh there's no Tony... I suppose Francy pants is Supergirl?" America was yelling, completely ignoring the fact that they were now facing an irate Austrian government official and Austrian security services for destroying half of a leading toy supermarket.

"This is, like, brilliant, Liet," Pol whispered to Toris, his eyes shining. Toris did not agree, it was not brilliant. They were hiding behind a large dumpster and watching the proceedings.

Russia was still holding a very bloodied Mr Pipe and was scouring the remaining aisles of Babys R Us looking for Latvia. He was getting increasingly worried and felt a horrid clenching in his gut.

"Are you not aware that Switzerland has been taken to hospital?" Austria pointed out. In truth he was quite worried about his old sparring partner. He sincerely hoped he was going to be alright.

"Haha! You kill me, Papa Austria!" America yelled.

"Don't call me that..."

"You're not my father, are you?" America suddenly asked, in all seriousness.

"Nein, I am not!" Austria said, looking absolutely appalled at the idea.

"Why was it kept a secret?" England asked as they got into a police van. Or should one say,_ thrown_ into the police van.

"Eet iz a beeg secret between zem, oh yes... Vash took her in after ze war..." France started to explain.

"How the bloody hell do you know?" England asked.

"I know everyzing!" France said with a horrid leer.

"Yes, you knew about Germany and Holy Rome, didn't you?" England said with a frown. His hand found Belarus' and he squeezed it gently.

"As did Austria... we have many secrets him and me..."

"You can shut the bloody hell up!" Austria all but screamed and then managed to regain his composure. "It was a long time ago..." he began.

America made sounds of 'snoring' from the side of England and shook his head, already bored.

* * *

><p>Vienna Hospital<p>

The doctors were puzzled – to say the least. Vash was alive, his thousand or so year old heart was beating, and he was breathing but he was frozen – his face stuck in a kind of grimace as if someone had just taken his wallet and emptied it over the streets of Berne. He still held his rifle in his right hand and in all aspects he looked like a life-size statue of a very angry Swiss guard.

Lily held his hand, he may not be her brother, but he'd just about brought her up and taken care of her and she now regretted her actions earlier. No wonder he'd had some sort of fit, he obviously had thought she was about to run away with Russia. She closed her eyes and prayed.

Hungary sat beside her and held her other hand, "He'll be okay. He's tough," she whispered carefully. But knowing she really had no right to be there.

"What happened?" Lily asked.

"Well... I reckon the shock of seeing you kiss Russia... hahaha his face was a picture... honestly, Lily what a great idea... of course kiss Russia and he'll accept the better option... Icy is lovely..." Hungary filled the awful silence by twittering.

"No, Mum... what happened? Why did you and... Mr Austria... Dad... let me go?" Lily said softly.

"Oh that... well... the Empire broke up in 1918 in the War. I lost so much and Rod was in a worst state... we had nothing. We could barely feed ourselves, we were starving. We tried, we really did. Our governments and the allies forced us to divorce. You were only young and we worried for your future..."

"But... Vash..."

"Yes, your father took you to Berne. But Vash and your father have never got on..."

"I remember, I was so cold... I thought I was going to die..."

"Your father was watching you... he made sure Vash found you..."

"You mean Vash didn't know who I was?"

"He didn't at first, but deep down he's a big softy. He would never admit it. Your father thought it was better like that. Vash told your father that he would take care of you like you were his sister, but he didn't want me and your father... definitely not your father... to interfere..." Hungary stopped suddenly and then patted Vash's hand – an action that would have caused much annoyance from the Swissman.

"I remember big bruder... Vash... didn't like it when we met Mr Austria... I mean er Dad... and he told me never to talk to strangers and drew pictures of Dad saying I wasn't to let him in my house..."

Hungary nodded and smiled, "Yes, they never got on. We wanted you to know who we were but by then it was too late. You were settled with Vash, he did such a good job and your father had made an agreement never to interfere..." Hungary sniffed. She'd always blamed Austria for taking away her daughter, but really now she thought about – she'd often tried not to think about it for so many years – she couldn't blame anyone. It was the price of being a Nation.

"I remember when I was little... someone singing..." Lily smiled softly at the memory.

"That was me..."

"...and beautiful music..."

"...that was your father..." Hungary wiped yet another tear away.

"...and crashing about..."

"... that was Feliciano's dusting..." Hungary smiled.

* * *

><p>A Police van, somewhere in Vienna<p>

"So you gave away your own daughter?" England asked quietly and then, seeing Austria's pained expression, shut up.

Russia who had just caught the tail-end of the conversation, having just got into the police van, under extreme pressure (which meant four Austrian policemen got knocked out and an Austrian Government official reassured him that they would eventually reconcile him with his 'little sunflower'), stopped waving his bloodied pipe and sighed in sympathy and then looked at America.

America shifted uncomfortably, "Alaska's fine, commie dude... you know that. I brought her up as my own. Just as we agreed."

"Dear Lord and that's supposed to be good, is it?" England retorted.

Russia considered this. America eyed the blood on Mr Pipe and swallowed. They were in the narrow confines of a police van and he doubted he could do back-flips in such a confined space.

Russia reached across, took America's hand and shook it. "Da, you did a good job... considering," the Russian said.

"Yes, considering he's an idiot..." England muttered. "Oh and another thing, Alfred. You can tell Alaska and your other kids not to call me Auntie Arty."

Belarus sniggered but then hugged England tightly.

* * *

><p>Austria's Mansion<p>

Prussia and Denmark looked at each other in horror at the dustbin lorry – what they could see of it – lying at the bottom of the heart-shaped swimming pool.

"Dude..."

"Dude..."

"Dude chick..."

"Shit..."

They stared in horror at each other. Both dripping wet, Denmark's hair plastered to his head – for once forgotten - as they realised that 'dude chick' was still in the truck. They'd both managed to swim to safety and left Latvia underwater.

Denmark dived in, "Copenhagen!" he yelled and swam to the truck. The door he'd wrenched open by his own awesome Viking strength was hanging by its hinges. He thanked the old Viking God Odin he was a good swimmer and tried to free Latvia from her seatbelt. Her eyes were closed and she looked very limp, she didn't thump him at all as he fumbled at her breast to unbuckle the seatbelt. Gilbert soon joined him, his red eyes looking panicked as they tugged and pulled. It seemed, to both of them, that it took an eternity to free her and she felt disturbingly limp and lifeless in Den's arms as he swam to the surface.

"Kiss of life..." Gilbert panted as they laid her down on the poolside.

"Fucking 'ell, Ivan will kill us..."

"He'll kill us if she dies..."

So, with combined ineptitude they tried chest compresses and mouth to mouth resuscitation – in between yelling "We're fucking dead!" at each other.

* * *

><p>The Austrian police managed to get the Nations to the police station, but unfortunately – or fortunately whichever way you happened to look at – they didn't keep them there for long. Herr Schnifflehoffen ( a made-up name if ever there was one, Arthur thought), the Austrian Government's official who dealt with Austria the Nation, managed to provide bail. Unlike other Nations' envoysofficials/intermediaries (i.e. Russia's, France's, America's) Herr Schnifflehoffen was not used to visiting police stations in his duties as special envoy, the opera, the theatre yes...

Russia was waving Mr Pipe around and getting very agitated. He was seriously worried about his little sunflower and was wondering where she was. Belarus was no use and just shrugged, he had an awful thought that Belarus and 'Natasha' had had something to do with Latvia's disappearance. Also Russia's usual calming influence – Toris – had managed to escape the police round-up, with that arch-expert at avoiding trouble – Pol.

Another Nation missing was Antonio (or as America yelled "Where's Tony dude?"). Antonio was, at that moment in the boot of a car owned by an Austrian family who thought they'd bought the latest in life-size animatronic toys.

So the Nations stumbled out of the police station, all geared up to break more laws. As America said, far too loudly for Austria and England's comfort, "Hey let's go break into that bank!"

"I need to find my little sunflower," Russia said quietly. Much as he would have liked to break into a bank and beat up more people, he felt seriously worried about Latvia.

"I need to find Lily and Elizaveta," Austria said.

"I need to find my sex appeal," France said – a feeling not shared by anyone else.

"I need to vomit," Belarus said.

* * *

><p>Austria's Mansion<p>

Another person who needed to vomit was Latvia. Whether it was Prussia's inept chest compressions or more likely Den's beery kiss of life – the alcohol content in his breath alone would have made a normal person drunk – she leaned over and threw up a large amount of chlorinated water.

"Yay!" Den yelled and was hit, albeit weakly by the small Latvian, who promptly collapsed again.

"We need to get her to a hospital before fat commie dude turns up and beats the living shit out of us," Gilbert said, rather wisely.

"Nah, man, she'll be okay... if we dry her off and..." Den was shaking her desperately.

Gilbert ignored him, jumped up and ran for the mansion, hoping the phone worked and 'specs' hadn't had it cut off for not paying the bill.

Den blinked away tears, Vikings did not cry, he thought. He even ignored his flat, wet hair - it was that serious and held Latvia. Since vomiting she'd coughed several times and then lost consciousness again. She was breathing – but it sounded horridly shallow and she looked extremely pale and felt very cold. Denmark quickly took off his jacket – which was wet and wrapped it around her and hoped to God that the ambulance would arrive fast and that Russia didn't turn up.

Den picked her up as gently as he could and hurried towards the mansion, if they could dry her, warm her up, she'll be okay won't she? Russia need never know - he didn't really want to end his awesome long life embedded in the bonnet of a dumpster truck at the deep end of Austria's new swimming pool. How un-awesome would that be?

Gil ran out and, cementing the absolute certainty that neither Nation should ever be paramedics or in any profession requiring responsibility, ran straight into Den.

"She dead?" Gil asked in a horrified shriek – he would later be deeply embarrassed by that 'shriek'.

"Nah, man. Not good, though," Den said and carried her through to Austria's dining room and laid her on a flat airbed.

Gilbert almost collapsed with relief, "Ambulance on its way, dude."

Denmark nodded and wrapped a sleeping bag around her.

"That ambulance had better hurry up," he whispered.

**Author's Notes:**

**The Austria-Hungary Empire was dissolved in 1918 just before a military defeat against Italy in the first world war. Hungary lost around 74% of its territory, Austria as a country barely survived as it was allied with the Hapsburgs. I think in the anime Liechtenstein is shown as a young girl being 'found' by Switzerland and taken in – it's a bit vague when this is – but I'm taking it as at the end of the first world war when a lot of the European countries were struggling. I also think the drawings that Switzerland does on the board in one of the episodes, showing 'strangers' and who not to talk to looks like Austria.**

**Don't worry I won't keep you hanging on – quick updates promised.**

**Next Chapter – a bank robbery goes horribly wrong, a character death, hospital angst.**


	31. Die Another Day

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Hakatori, Irishmaid, I Am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

Warnings: hospital drama, a death

Chapter 30 – Die Another Day

Austria's Mansion

A flat air bed and a mouldy sleeping bag were not the most conducive ways of keeping an unconscious pregnant lady warm. But they were all they had. Denmark cradled Latvia in his arms and weirdly sang a sea shanty about invading England's northern sea ports. Gilbert paced up and down like the expectant dad he wasn't.

They jumped up as someone came in, hoping it was the ambulance drivers. It wasn't, it was Estonia.

Denmark made no comment about Estonia's ascent to sexiness but just motioned dumbly at Latvia.

"What happened?" Estonia asked, utterly shocked. All thoughts of the deals he'd just made with the builders for the new hotel complex he was planning went out of the window.

Gilbert and Den pointed at each other "It was his fault," they said in unison.

Estonia bent down and gently brushed wet hair from Latvia's eyes, "Come on, little Raivis..." he murmured and then he turned to Den, who was shuffling about, "Did you ring for an ambulance?"

"Yeah, mate... but..."

"We need to get hold of Russia," Estonia said.

This was not what they wanted to hear. At all.

Prussia practically had a fit, "Are you fucking joking, geeky little idiot?"

"Don't talk to my little Baltic like that," Den said suddenly turning on his fellow Awesome Trio member.

"He's trying to get us fucking killed..." Gilbert yelled.

"Russia is the father, he has a right to know," Estonia said shortly, pulling himself away from a possible hug from Den.

"You knew she was pregnant?" Den asked.

Estonia didn't answer as the doorbell rang – a horrid out of tune, tinny Mozart symphony.

"Ambulance!" Den and Pru yelled together and both loped to the door, shoving each other out of the way.

* * *

><p>Bank of Vienna<p>

"Right, disguises at the ready?" America yelled. He was quite pleased at how this was working out. In his own little head they were completely incognito (if he could have pronounced it), no-one would be able to tell from the CCTV who they were.

Himself, as Batman of course, Arthur stood next to him pulling at his tights and dressed as Robin, Belarus was wearing a Snow White outfit, stood with France who wore a Supergirl outfit and complaining that the tights restricted his 'area of manliness', Austria had refused to wear any kind of disguise, as had Russia – who was still, to America's utter horror, muttering about finding a little sunflower or something.

The revolving door proved a problem. America was unsure what happened, it was all a blur. Literally just that – a blur.

Five Nations stepped into one compartment of the revolving door – himself, England, Belarus, France, Austria... but not Russia. Russia did not like revolving doors and he said as much. This was to be their downfall.

The big Russian stepped back as his fellow Nations stepped in and watched as America pushed the door in front of him. His American strength forced the door spinning forward too fast and England yelled "Bloody hell, you big American idiot!"

Russia cocked his head to one side. It actually looked like fun – like the roundabouts at the park and he stuck his large hand in and brought the door to a resounding stop. The occupants were about to thank him, when Russia gave it another shove. His superpower strength easily matching America's, and the door spun around and round, the occupants and their bizarre 'disguises' were just a flash and blur of colour. Russia, his head cocked on one side, smiled softly, "Pretty colours..." he murmured.

The revolving door finally did stop revolving and the Nations fell out in various states of consciousness. Belarus promptly vomited all over the Bank of Vienna's polished tiled floor. America, struggling to keep his hamburgers in his stomach crawled out, very unhero-like from the entrance and collapsed. Austria was laid flat on his back moaning quietly, his glasses broken. France collapsed next to him, his face green. Only England kept his feet, a lifetime of adventuring on the high seas had given him a rather enviable sense of balance. Also a penchant for funfair rides had something to do with the fact that he wasn't retching his guts up on the Bank's emblem that was etched on the floor – a large black eagle.

Russia strode in after them, looking in utter surprise at their unhealthy state. "What's wrong? Didn't you enjoy the ride?" he asked them.

His fellow Nations looked at him in what could only be described as utter disbelief.

It was, weirdly, Austria's Germanic authority that stopped them from being thrown out by the security guards. Although said Germanic authority had to be propped up by England.

"I need to see the manager," Austria told the reception clerk, ignoring the French Nation hugging his leg and wailing "I am so unsexy... I'm going to vomit in a minute..."

"I think it would be best if you and your _friends_ left," the reception clerk said, looking in disgust at Austria and his fellow Nations.

Austria glanced around, he would never, ever if he lived for another thousand years call any of these imbeciles 'friends'. England was holding Belarus' hair back while she continued to empty her stomach on the floor, America was eyeing up the security guards and counting the number of guns said guards carried and making strategic defensive manoeuvres in his head, France was still clinging to his leg and Russia was stood in the centre of the reception area humming tunelessly.

"You don't know who I am?" Austria said, raising himself to his full five feet nine inches and attempted to pull his velvet waistcoat around himself, thanking God he hadn't worn that ridiculous Tigger costume that America had picked out for him.

He felt a delicate hand on his shoulder, caressing gently. He didn't look around, expecting it to be France (even though the said French Nation was still clinging to his left leg) or England. It was neither.

"My husband needs to see the manager now!" Hungary all but exploded.

He turned to her, his heart jumped with joy at the word 'husband', he was about to point out that technically they weren't married any more but... he didn't.

"Liz, I thought you went with Lily and Vash... Is Vash...? Is he alright?" Austria asked.

Hungary smiled, "He'll be alright, the doctors say that he's had a huge shock. Temporary paralysis. And Lily's fine..."

"Do you think she'll ever forgive me?" Austria asked, his heart is in his mouth.

Hungary sighed, there were so many things she had to say to him, but now was not the time. "Later, I'll explain later..." she said.

Hungary turned back to the receptionist, who clearly thought that she'd better not argue with a very tough-looking Hungarian woman brandishing a large frying pan, and put a call through. She also pressed the alarm button three times – the alarm that incidentally was linked to the local police station.

The Hungarian leaned across the desk at the receptionist so she was nose to nose. "We are very important people..." she began.

Francis sniffled at their feet.

"... apart from him..." she said indicating the great Le France.

Russia continued humming behind them.

"...and him..." she added quickly.

"Come on, man! We need to get this show on the road!" America yelled, his patience, such as it was had worn thin.

Russia's patience had also worn thin. He slammed out of the bank. He had no idea anyway what this 'job' was they were going to do and the awful, wrenching feeling his stomach had grown worse and worse. He needed to find Latvia, or Toris. (Toris always knew what to do. Toris always had vodka.) He whizzed through the revolving doors and, because his mind was on finding his little Baltic, completely missed the armed police in full riot gear, balaclavas (America would have been impressed), batons and guns coming in.

* * *

><p>Vienna Hospital<p>

"Are you the father?" the reception nurse asked Estonia as Latvia was wheeled away down a long corridor.

Estonia watched as the girl he'd thought of as his sister was taken into a cubicle and doctors and nurses hurried in to her. He shook his head and blushed as the nurse looked him up and down, wondering weighing up whether it was professional to chat up a patient's next of kin.

Den stuck his hand up, "I am!" he said.

"No, you're not..." Gil said.

"I am... oh I thought she said are you a father?"

"Idiot!" Gilbert yelled and twatted his friend around the head.

The nurse sighed and seriously wondered whether she should call security or the psychiatric ward. However, she continued to take down notes.

"Name?" she asked.

"Matthias Kohler and yes... I am available."

"Not you... you big loon," Estonia said and hit his former boss in the head. "Raivis Gallante."

"Age?"

There was a pause as the Nations looked at each other. Age was a taboo thing to discuss. You can't go around telling humans your real age. Denmark found, often to his cost, that it freaked them out.

Estonia took a pot-shot, "22," he said confidently.

"How far on is she?"

"About 500 miles from Riga..." Denmark answered.

He received a smack from Estonia. "Hmmm," Estonia did a quick calculation, "About six weeks, I think."

"It's Russian!" Gilbert butted in, as if that made any difference. As if the doctors and nurses would have to use an entirely different medical procedure or medication because the father was Russian.

The nurse looked at Gilbert as if he were just that – an idiot and shook her head. "Is she on any medication?"

"Nah man... although she should be – being with Russkie dude..." Den said.

Estonia finally lost it then and shoved the two 'loons' out into the waiting area, gave them some money – which brightened them up considerably – and went back in.

* * *

><p>Austria's mansion<p>

Russia wanted answers and when Russia wanted answers, Mr Pipe also wanted answers. Several German builders had found this to their cost. But it wasn't their fault, how do you answer 'where's my little sunflower?' They'd tried pointing him in the direction of the garden, to no avail.

He'd taken himself back to Austria's mansion, thinking that that's where she'd be. But as he'd got out of the taxi, the sick feeling in his stomach worsened, particularly when he saw the dustbin lorry at the bottom of the swimming pool.

Finally, it was a hippy Germany and a goose-stepping Italian who told him the news that they'd seen Latvia wheeled away in an ambulance as they'd been 'practising marching'.

Russia picked up the little Italian and shook him like a ragdoll, "Why, what happened, where did she go?" he snarled.

Italy, who had only seen Latvia on a stretcher, accompanied by Estonia, shook his head, his face turning blue. Russia flung him down in disgust.

Germany gave a 'v' sign and said, "Peace!" and was promptly punched out by Russia.

* * *

><p>Bank of Vienna<p>

America would always, no matter how much he asked England afterwards, be unsure as to what happened next. (And he asked England over a dozen times over the next few days, 'What happened, Arty?')

The armed guards crashed into the bank. Literally crashed in. Russia had sent the revolving door spinning behind him so fast that the Rapid Response Team of Vienna City Police fell in a heap on the floor.

This did not put them in a good mood for negotiating with 'terrorists'. 'Terrorists' being the term applied to the rather bedraggled individuals in fancy dress costume in front of them.

"Put your hands up! Feet apart! Drop your weapons!" the commander shouted as the unit got to their collective feet.

Belarus dropped her knife, with much dismay. England sighed, "I say..." France snivelled. America dropped his plastic sub-machine gun in disgust. He knew he should have fetched some grenades and a Howitzer.

Hungary spun around, "I'm not dropping anything!" she said, her eyes flaring.

The armed police glanced at one another, for a moment completely taken aback. Their commander shook his head, "Madam, drop your ... erm kitchen implement and come quietly..."

Hungary did not appreciate her frying pan being called a kitchen implement or being told to 'come quietly'. She had never gone anywhere quietly. She stepped forward, "Don't you point that gun at me!" she said.

It was the wrong thing to do. The police were jittery as it was. Having been flung around the revolving entrance by Russia had been on a par with being in a washing machine on the spin cycle. France, whose sexual hormones were just about coming back, had always had a 'thing' for men in uniforms, was eyeing up the nearest young rookie.

One of the policemen raised his gun at Hungary. Austria, completely horrified, leapt in front of her, someone panicked and there were shots fired.

Austria felt as if the Earth had suddenly stopped turning, time slowing down to a slow trudge. 'Who has punched me in the chest?' he thought druggedly. He looked down to see a red bloom spreading across his waistcoat and his legs crumpled beneath him.

It felt as if there were a rock in his chest and he couldn't breathe. His vision started to blur and go dark. He felt Hungary cradling his head and her sobs filled his ears. Strangely, the last thought that went through his head was 'I'm glad I didn't die wearing that Tigger costume'. Blood spread along the floor as a thousand year old heart played out its last beats...

**Author's Notes:**

**I made up Bank of Vienna and also the eagle emblem – however the eagle emblem is an emblem of Austria.**

**Future chapters: more hospital dramas, special guest stars and what happens in a police cell stays in a police cell. A king returns, somebody gets the sack, a reunion and parting worthy of a movie, awesomeness goes on a world tour, and a picnic...**

**Don't worry, all loose ends will be tied up – I know some of you have had questions... Please remember – foreshadowing... and also all my stories all belong in the same universe (thanks for that Scarheart of DarkClan)... and I sometimes shamelessly steal ideas from what reviewers comment...**

**Did anyone guess it was Austria who 'died'?**

**Reviews/PMs/Comments welcome.**

**On a roll now, a few more chapters of madness, an epilogue (or maybe two...) and that's it.**


	32. Please Don't Leave Me

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters. I also thank Hetalia fans/deviantart for inspiration for the characters in this particular chapter.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Hakatori, Irishmaid, I Am Sweden, Fluffiet, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

Warnings: Fasten your seatbelts guys, it's going to be rough - OCs, Grandpa Rome and other 'Ancients', loads of angst, kind of a songfic chapter.

Chapter 31 – Please Don't Leave Me

White, peaceful white... nothingness. The pain in his chest easing... A long white corridor, a door opening... so peaceful, so quiet... Austria... was that his name now? His brain felt muddled, but it was nice not to have to listen to anything... only quiet sobbing. Crying far away. Perhaps, he thought, if I ignore it... her... He shook his head and stepped into the room.

_Please don't leave me_

"...and then I said to Emperor Constantine... that doesn't go there!" a loud, brash voice yelled in an annoying Italian accent.

Something metallic hit something soft and the same voice yelled, "Hey!"

Austria opened his eyes. Yes, he was still Austria... but where on earth was he?

He looked around the room. It was large, the walls painted pale cream, cushions were heaped along the floor – residing on them were the strangest people he'd ever seen. But also strangely familiar. He felt as he should know their names, but no words would come.

Apparently, he didn't need to speak as the teller of the tale, grabbed him painfully by the shoulders. "Hey! Austria! What are you doing here?"

Austria looked up into handsome amber eyes – so familiar, they looked like Feliciano's and Romano's but were older, far far older, but nevertheless with the same cheerfulness (though Romano could never be described as cheerful). The owner wore an ancient red robe that barely covered his body, a large sword at his belt and a gold leaf crown on his head.

_Please don't leave me..._

Austria attempted to say something as he heard the voice soft in his head but was distracted when there were further shouts.

"Let go of him, Rome! You scared him..." A tall woman in a pale robe, her black hair dressed in long braids, a gold crown on her head, she stretched out a brown arm and waved at Austria to come over.

Austria shook his head. Where was he? Was this heaven? He finally found his voice and asked the latter question.

Rome laughed, "Hahaha!" and clapped his shoulder, "Si, si, come and meet Ancient Greece and Ancient Egypt..." he yelled.

He pointed at the dark haired lady and the woman reclining beside her – dressed similarly, but the latter wearing a gold band around her dark head with a serpent ornament. They both waved but then snarled at Rome's next comment. "This is my harem!"

Austria frowned at this. He didn't think it was polite. Another woman at the far end of the room stood up. She had long auburn hair, vivid green eyes and carried a shield and bow, "Shut up, Grandpa Rome," she said, "We are not your harem."

"That's Britannia... she loves me really..." Rome said, his arm still around Austria's shoulder.

Austria tried to shrug away. Something was irritating him and it wasn't just this annoying Ancient Nation. He could still hear a soft pleading voice as if from far away.

_I always said that I don't need you... Please please don't leave me..._

"Honhonhon, I am all you need, Grandpa Rome... oh yes..." A very curvaceous woman wearing a long robe split to the thigh, her blond hair swept back in one long braid smiled coquettishly. Austria didn't need telling who she was.

"Erm Miss France?" he ventured. "I know your son... erm Francis..."

"Ah oui, but I am Gaul or ..." here she stood up and sashayed towards him and much to his horror placed a finger on his lips, "You can call me Marianne..." she said seductively.

"Bloody French..." Britannia said.

"Erm is there anyone who's in charge... I mean... erm..." Austria struggled to speak, what with Grandpa Rome with his arm around his shoulders holding him in place and Marianne stood in front of him, stroking his cheek.

"Hmmmm, fresh blood... ah oui..." the Ancient French Nation murmured.

"In charge? I'm in charge!" Rome shouted in Austria's left ear.

"You were never in charge. You're a fool," came another voice. The owner of said voice was a tall, blond man, dressed in a simple tunic, a grey cloak around his shoulders, his hair dressed simply with one braid hanging to the side. He had strong cheekbones and clear blue eyes. He smiled at Austria as Rome remonstrated loudly.

"Hello grandson... why are you here so early?"

Austria just gawped and stuttered, "Germany?"

"Nein... although I do bear more resemblance to him than my other grandchildren. I'm Germania. You won't remember me."

"Other grandchildren? You're my grandfather?" Austria continued to gawp.

"Ja, and all the Germanic Nations..."

"You mean..." Austria had suspected he and Germany were related, but here he gulped, "...that hooligan, Prussia?"

"Ja, a good boy. I'm very proud of him. He's kept going through so much. He should be here with us... but..."

"He's not bloody well coming here!" yelled Britannia.

"... as you can see he is not popular. But he's kept going longer than anyone ever expected."

"Hmmmm..." Austria had no words for that.

The idiotic Prussian Nation who was no longer really a Nation should have faded away long ago - it was to everyone's amazement that he just simply refused to leave the earthly plane. Austria had long since concluded that neither God nor Satan wanted or could cope with him. But if the fact that he was biologically related to the bane of his existence was bad, the next statement Grandpa Germania came out with was worse, much worse.

"And my other grandson, Switzerland..."

"Whaaaaaaaaaaat?" Surely, he, Austria the once great Austrian Empire, was in hell. He had to be, it could be the only answer to what could only be described as an eternity of torment and torture. He was biologically related to his neighbour, his ex boyhood friend, the meanest Nation on earth (apart from him of course, but he didn't think that)?

Germania just raised an eyebrow – clearly, living with ex Nations who were thousands of years old prepared you for anything. "Austria should not be here," he whispered to Rome.

Grandpa Rome frowned.

Austria wiped his brow and sat down on a nearby cushion. He shoved Marianne/Gaul's wandering hands away. He could still hear distant sobbing and the odd catch of words. In fact, the sobbing had never left him, here in this strange place. But when he concentrated and listened, like tuning into a radio he could hear words, a soft, broken voice whispering:

_Please don't leave me_

_I always said that I don't need you..._

_I'm sorry..._

Austria jumped up then, "I shouldn't be here..." he said quietly.

The other Nations looked up at him. Marianne flounced back to Britannia who responded by hitting her, "You scared the poor thing," she said to the Frenchwoman.

Grandpa Rome stepped forward, a serious look on his handsome face and was about to say something when the door burst open and three entities slammed in.

For a moment, Austria's heart stopped – again. He thought he recognised the various yelling and shouting, that some of his fellow Nations had also died. 'It must have been a massacre,' he thought sadly, 'The Austrian police shot them all.' (Forgetting that none of the Nordic Nations had been in the bank.)

"I can drink more than you!"

"Get out of here, yer a lightweight!"

"Sod off, you're a fool."

"Am not. Anyway, my axe is bigger than yours."

"My bloody sword's bigger than your axe."

"You're an idiot and you should know better."

"D...D...Denmark? Sw...Sweden, N...Norway?" Austria asked, wide-eyed as three Vikings, clad in fur-skins, brandishing axes, swords and pikes, their winged helmets glinting, strode in. All three tried to get through the door together and got stuck. This resulted in another heated exchange.

Grandpa Rome, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to act as 'guide' whispered to Austria, his smile never leaving his face, "That's Odin, Thor and Loki..."

"Are they...who I think they are?" Austria asked.

Grandpa Rome may have been the conqueror of the Mediterranean (and quite a few hearts) but he was also behind in the brains department and he just frowned, puzzled. "Si..." he said.

"The old Norse Gods?" Austria whispered, disbelievingly.

Grandpa Rome laughed, "I don't know about gods, but they sure can drink and party..."

One of them shoved a huge pint pot of foaming beer into Austria's hand and yelled ear-splittingly, "Beers for everyone!"

The female Ancients all groaned and ignored him.

The door opened again but this time there wasn't the ear-splitting shouting or displays of wind that had preceded the Norse Gods, but a fragrant smell of flowers, soft meadows and rain.

Austria gawped again as three women came in. One was the most striking lady he had ever seen. Tall, with sun-kissed lithe limbs, dressed in deerskin, she wore feathers in her long burnished black braided hair. She carried a bow and arrow and smiled at the women behind her, pushing aside the three Nordic Gods – who all made way.

One of the 'Gods' yelled, "Yo Cheyenne, yer don't want a beer?"

But she ignored him and, to Austria's surprise – he never thought he'd see an ancient thousands year old God look embarrassed – the big blond Viking blushed as one of his brother gods nudged him and whispered, "We know you fancy her..."

"Native America," Grandpa Rome whispered. "She's beautiful..." he sighed and added, "One day, she will go out with me on a date."

The women following the Native American woman were probably less striking but intriguing. Austria recognised the first – her eyes – the colour of cornflowers, beige-blond hair was in plaits wound around her head and she wore a simple flowered peasant dress. She even carried a bottle of vodka with her. She looked so much a mixture of Russia, Ukraine and Belarus that Austria stared.

The girl at the rear was probably the least striking and forgettable, but what caught Austria's interest was not the almost identical peasant dress to Mother Russia that she wore, nor the basket she carried with Mother Russia's knitting, but the sword she carried at her waist and the clear blue eyes that stared back at him totally unabashed.

"Who's that?" Austria asked Rome. He wasn't going to call Rome, Grandpa, no matter how much the Roman Empire kept hinting that he should.

"The Rodina... Mother Russia. You know her son and daughters..."

"No, I mean the girl behind her."

"Livonia. She's cute isn't she? She loves me as well," Rome said confidently and dodged as the small Livonian threw a knife at his head.

Mother Russia turned and smiled at the smaller Nation and then patted her head, "We'll get him next time, dear."

"You said that last century," Livonia pouted.

Mother Russia, who was probably drunk, just nodded happily.

Austria wondered how on earth they all managed living an eternity together without turning on each other. He didn't have long to wait to find out as all hell broke loose.

"Cheyenne chick... you promised me you'd come with me to Valhalla for a pint!" one of the Norse Gods yelled across the room.

'Cheyenne chick' began to load an arrow in her bow.

Britannia yelled across the room, "Shut your mouth, Odin and bugger off back to your bloody land of snow and all that rubbish."

"Zay are just hot-blooded males... oh yes!" Marianne piped up.

"I'm not Odin. Bloody hell wench, you've known me for over a thousand years, can't you tell which one of us is which?" the Norse God yelled back at Britain's mother.

"Don't call me a wench!" Britannia yelled back.

"I'm Thor!" the Norse God yelled "... But I'm thatithfied..." he added and then laughed hysterically at his own joke, his beer slopping all over Ancient Greece and Ancient Egypt.

Austria took several steps back as beer glasses were thrown, arrows flew, a spear embedded in the wall just inches above someone's head, all accompanied by swearing in lots of different languages – some unheard of for hundreds of years.

Germania carefully took hold of Austria and led him out of the way, "You shouldn't be here..." Germania said to the younger Nation.

Austria nodded, "I know... isn't there a more ... I don't know, a VIP area or a first class area?" he asked, as if he were at an airport departure lounge.

Germania shook his head, "I'm sorry, I mean it's not your time..."

Austria was about to reply when the screams around him seemed to reach a crescendo and there was a clash of metal on metal.

Then the door flew open and a blast of cold air blew in almost knocking Austria off his feet. Snowflakes started to dance in the air in front of him, and to his utter astonishment, everyone went suddenly quiet. Only one of the Vikings, attempting to dislodge his axe from the wall, was oblivious to the horrid aura of dread that seemed to pervade the air.

An elderly man dressed in an old Army greatcoat, carrying a very old sword, his grey hair covered in ice crystals walked into the room. A blizzard danced around him, the temperature dropped.

"Bugger," someone muttered.

"Party pooper," someone else whispered.

The 'old guy', as Rome called him, strode up to the embedded axe, pulled it out of the wall in one smooth movement and handed it back to its Viking owner with a grim, icy smile.

The axe owner, Odin, rubbed his blond head and, careful not to touch the man's hand, took his weapon.

"Who's that?" Austria whispered to Germania as everyone suddenly got up to leave - stepping carefully past the old man, some inching past him lest they touch his coat.

"He has many names - Winter... Vetr... Old Man Winter..." Germania whispered and then pulled Austria back a little and added, "Don't touch him, son."

All the while, Winter glared around him, his eyes the colour of dirty snow. The temperature of the room had dropped so suddenly, Austria felt goosebumps on his arms and he started to shiver. How could he shiver if he was dead?

"Bad-ass dude," Thor whispered in some kind of explanation as he went past.

Only Mother Russia hesitated, she stopped and turned around, and went up to the old man.

Winter's icy smile melted a little, the snowflakes around him stopped swirling and gathered at his feet in a sparkling mound. Winter and Mother Russia clasped hands for a moment until the ancient female Nation withdrew her hand – now a horrid white as the pain of frostbite started to nip her fingers – and smiled regretfully, turning away.

Snowflakes whirled around the old man again, a cold blast of air and... he was gone.

Austria blinked in confusion.

"He comes and goes, doesn't like the noise. I don't think he likes any of us. I suppose there's a snowstorm somewhere on Earth he has to attend to ... Better not to ask," Germania said quietly.

Austria wasn't really listening... well, not to Germania at any rate.

The woman's voice was still whispering – the same words '_Please don't leave me_' over and over. But now they were getting fainter and fainter, like bad radio reception. He had to really shut out everything around him to hear her, and her voice was little more than a breath now.

"You need to go back," Germania said and then turned and shouted through the door, "Hey Rome, you big idiot, get in here."

Austria was about to say something but words would not come. He felt strange, as if his head didn't belong to him at all. And again, all time stood still, he could feel the blood rushing in his veins, in his temples - his heart beating ten to the dozen as if it would burst, as if he were running.

Grandpa Rome punched him on the chest, not once, not twice, but three times... bang... bang... bang...

Austria tried to remonstrate, tried to say something... he felt as if his heart would burst.

He heard many voices all shouting at him at once.

"Tell Francis I am so proud of him..."

"Tell Matthias and Berwald and Tino how proud they've made us... and Erik and Icy..."

"Tell Vanya and the girls they have made me proud... they have done so well..."

"Remember to tell Alfred I love him..."

"Please tell my beautiful Italies how wonderful they are"

"Tell Arthur not to put baking powder in scones... and tell Hamish and Bryn and Erin and..."

"Shut up, Britannia"

"I will not shut up, bloody French tart."

"Tell Latvia everything will be alright..."

Bang... bang ... bang... bang...

* * *

><p>Hungary thought that she would never get over the sound of the defibrillation machine, the sound of the paddles against Austria's bare chest as the paramedics tried again and again to restart the old Nation's heart.<p>

"Come on... don't leave me... please don't leave me..." she prayed, whispering over and over, kneeling at his side. She clutched one of his hands in hers, her skirts splayed out soaking up the blood, tears staining her cheeks.

_Please don't leave me..._

**Author's Notes:**

**Someone mentioned about Fanfiction having a purge and taking down M rated stories. I haven't seen anything about this – but then I'm behind on stuff. If A Winter Night gets 'purged', rest assured I will re-upload as T rated, it's very tame anyway.**

**The descriptions of the 'Ancients' I got from various fan-made pictures I've seen on deviantart. I took liberties as to their names – i.e. Marianne/Gaul**

**The Nordic Gods – these are Nordic Gods called Odin, Thor and Loki but in my headcanon they are the fathers/grandfathers of the Nordic Nations.**

**Cheyenne was the name I gave Native America... I just liked it – obviously there are many Native American tribes and I could have called her Sioux, Blackfoot or whatever.**

**Germania as the grandfather of the Germanic Nations – Germany/Switzerland/Prussia/Germany.**

**Livonia – I took liberties here. Livonia is a kind of ex Nation like Prussia and occupied the land that was Estonia and Latvia. I couldn't find any pictures of her, so I used my imagination – and read a bit about the Livonian Order which was an autonomous kick-ass subsidiary of the Teutonic Order. I can imagine her being Mother Russia's little handmaid... perhaps with her own agenda...**

**Had to get General Winter in there somewhere – I think he's awesome.**

** And the little tender scene with Mother Russia – read into that what you will.**

**Defibrillator – one of those machines where the paddles are put on the chest to 'jump-start' the heart.**

**Just remember that most of this story is just my headcanons being regurgitated. You can comment/PM me with your own headcanon and I'll happily chat. However, I will respect your opinion if you respect mine. Let's not fall out over imaginary characters eh?**

**Unless you've already guessed the voice Austria keeps hearing is Hungary's. The lines and the chapter title are from Pink's 'Please Don't Leave Me' – it kept coming up on my ipod and I think it fitted their relationship and it was suitably angsty.**

**Feel free to comment/review/PM**

**Future Chapters: Hospital angst, Russia angst, The Return of the King... probably, all with a liberal dose of silliness and fluff – I promised fluff and you will get fluff... You'll have to wait to see if there's a happy ending. Don't forget, people that all my stories are linked with each other...**

**PS Having a little celebration – The Baltics Secrets has just reached 20,000 hits... completely overwhelmed (but, most of them are probably me – re-reading stuff to make sure I don't get something wrong in Day in the Life/Revelations)... anyway, big thank you to all my readers.**


	33. What Hurts The Most

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Hakatori, Irishmaid, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

Warnings: Flangst with a liberal dose of stupidity

Chapter 32 – What Hurts the Most

Polska's house, Warsaw

Coming from the kitchen was the sound of pots and pans crashing about and cheerful Italian singing: "C'è la luna a mezzu 'u mare!" The singer was, of course, Romano. His cheery clear voice almost over-riding his fumbly efforts to make pasta on Pol's stove. (Polska never cooked, Toris did occasionally on his rare visits.)

He was watched by Svetlana Bollockoff, all pretences of being a stern, icy KGB Major had gone out of the window. Her hair was mussed up, her lipstick very smeared and she wore a dazed smile, "Aaah, Roma..." she murmured happily.

* * *

><p>Vienna Hospital<p>

Russia flung open the doors and swept in. Thankfully there wasn't a revolving door that he could get anyone stuck in for all eternity – going around and around until the world ended. He strode up the reception desk, shoving aside various people in the queue, glaring them into quiet when someone protested.

"Raivis Gallante? Has a Raivis Gallante been admitted? Where is she?" he asked the started nurse.

Russia swept a hand through his mussed up blond hair and hoped she was okay, that she was safe...

The nurse looked him up and down, "Are you a next of kin?" she asked.

Russia was horrified, they didn't usually ask for a next of kin, unless someone had died. "She...she's dead?" he asked. He went deathly pale and swayed on his feet.

The nurse was about to answer when two loud individuals came through the reception area.

"I told you they wouldn't sell beer in there. This is a hospital, man!"

Russia snarled and turned at the sound of the familiar voice. "Gilbert!" he roared and slammed after the small Prussian.

Gilbert stopped dead, "Shit!" he yelled and turned and ran – awesomely.

Denmark, rather slower than Gilbert, laughed and was then cut off by Russia's hand on his throat.

"Where is she?" Russia snarled into the Dane's face. Russia's aura pulsated wildly around him, his eyes were a livid purple – streaks of silver flashed through them. Den would not have been surprised had the Russian suddenly sprouted horns.

"She... she... my throat... can't..." Den gurgled.

Russia loosened his grip, but not completely.

"She's on ward 15... Cherry something ward... she's okay... she..." Den collapsed to the floor as Russia let him go and dashed off.

Ivan then skidded to a stop, spun around and went back to the Dane, "Do not leave here. I am going to come back and kill you..." he said in a very low baritone growl.

As soon as Russia had took himself up the stairs, running up three at a time, Den jumped up, yelling madly, "Shit, shit shit..." and ran for his best 'bud', Gilbert.

* * *

><p>Vienna<p>

It would be like an episode of one of those many television hospital dramas, Hungary thought, except it wasn't... this was no dream, no actors, no fake blood. The ambulance sirens wailed as they sped through the city. She clasped Austria's hand in hers, fearing to let go and prayed to God, to many Gods. The paramedics had restarted his heart, but the blood was still flowing quickly, despite the emergency dressing and his blood pressure was dropping quickly. The paramedic at the side of Austria had put a morphine drip in, and had put him on an emergency ventilator that at least got him breathing, but his eyes were closed and his cheeks deathly pale.

The ambulance crew had almost given up and almost pronounced him dead in the bank. The other Nations had stood by in shocked silence. Belarus quietly sobbing, leaning on England's shoulder. France had snivelled. Even America had been silenced by Hungary's soft sobs.

They skidded into the hospital, Hungary running in after the hospital gurney and then some ridiculously young nurse took hold of her and told her to wait in the 'family room'.

Hungary kicked off, proper kicked off, as if she were back in the War of the Austrian Succession. "I'm going in with him... I will go everywhere with him... we were married for over 50 years... longer than you've been on this earth, honey..." she yelled.

The nurse considered calling the psychiatrics department (an opinion that would be held by many hospital professionals that day), but instead led Hungary quite forcefully, in the way a uniformed nurse can, into a bland room with awful uncomfortable chairs, a coffee machine and women's magazines.

Hungary flung herself down and prepared to wait. She fingered her skirt where the blood had started to dry... Austria's blood. He'd always been there for her. They hadn't really got on as children, in fact when she'd dressed as a boy she used to beat him up. Then her country had been merged into the Empire and for a long time she'd been a servant in his house. She smiled at the memories.

As a young girl, she'd been apprehensive to say the least – suddenly finding herself under the dominion of a powerful male Nation. But Austria had always been polite and courteous to her. No matter that she was essentially a maid for many years, he'd always treated her as a lady. In fact he also treated Feliciano like a lady for a while... here, she laughed a little.

But then she stopped, what would she do if the unthinkable happened? She tried not to think ... but if he died. He'd always been a constant. They hadn't always got on, seen eye to eye, but he was always an ally to her, even under Communist rule, during the uprising, he'd made sure as many of her people had gotten across the border to safety as he could.

Sure, he was annoying, mean with money, petty, short-tempered, had a terrible sense of direction – he'd once got lost in his own mansion. But she loved him, she loved the way he sang when he was in a good mood (or had found some money), his sarcastic sense of humour, the way he didn't back down if he thought he was right, his passive-aggressiveness. The fact was that although she'd been with many men over the years she always went back to him. She sighed, wiped away a tear and picked up a 'Womens Weekly'.

She didn't get further than the horoscopes when the door opened and a nurse walked in.

"Erm are you with the gentleman with the bullet wound?"

Hungary nodded, her heart in her mouth, _'Please be alright... please be alright...'_

"I need to take down some details..." the nurse said, a sympathetic smile on her face.

"Is he... is he okay?" Hungary whispered. Her hand strayed to her stomach. If he died, he would never know... she brushed the thought away.

"He's still in surgery. I need to take down some details. Name, age..."

"Roderich Edelstein..." Hungary left out all the stupid Count and von bits.

"Age..." here Hungary hesitated like Estonia earlier. "... erm..." she calculated, she couldn't say one thousand years old, could she, how old did he look? Some days he looked his age, some days he looked like a middle-aged bachelor, other days he looked... "30 years old," she settled on. He would like that, she thought.

* * *

><p>Ward 15, Russia found, with some bewilderment, was the Antenatal Care Ward. He stopped with a skid and read the notice again – which was in German – although his German wasn't brilliant he checked again and then frowned. Idiot Denmark had probably sent him to the wrong ward on purpose.<p>

He padded down the ward, peering as inconspicuously as he could at each of the beds – all containing women in varying stages of pregnancy – many of them looking annoyed, many looking as though they would happily rip a man's testicles off.

Finally, he got to the end bed where he found Estonia sat in a chair at the side of Latvia. Her face was very pale, her blond hair – now dried – laid across the white pillow. She had a drip in her arm and her eyes were closed.

"Is she alright? What happened?" Russia asked in barely a whisper.

"She almost drowned. In Austria's swimming pool..."

"Why was she swimming? It's December!" Russia was appalled.

"No, Sir. There was an accident..." Estonia began to explain.

Russia remembered the dustbin lorry lying at the bottom of the pool and then Denmark and Prussia's guilty looks. They would be joining the truck soon, he decided.

"But, she's alright?" Russia asked, his lips trembling. He reached over and gently brushed a stray hair from her eyes and then softly stroked her cheek.

"I think so... she was awake a while ago. She came around. They've put her on a saline drip. They're going to do a scan in a while," Estonia answered.

"A scan? Why?"

Estonia hesitated. Of course, Russia still didn't know, Latvia hadn't told him.

Russia pulled one of the huge monstrosities that were supposed to be chairs across and sat down – claiming for himself more glares from the women in the beds. He picked up the medical notes and perused them and then frowned.

"Why is she in here?" Russia asked, dumbly. His brain felt foggy and he was still trying to compute what was going on. All the medical notes said was something about blood pressure, lots of dots on a graph. It didn't help that the woman in the next bed to Latvia's who obviously had bad water retention, was around 9 months and 10 minutes pregnant and therefore extremely bad-tempered, kept shushing him.

"Because she nearly drowned," Estonia whispered.

"No, I mean why is she on this ward?" Russia asked.

He got his answer soon enough when a doctor approached them, whisked the clipboard out of Russia's hand and said in a no nonsense tone, "Are you the father?"

Russia hesitated. He wondered if they were talking about Lily. After all those revelations earlier, he couldn't be sure. He looked to Estonia for help. Estonia nodded. So he nodded, trusting his cleverest Baltic. It was only then that the truth dawned on him as he looked at Latvia's soft, sleeping form, the tube going into her arm and he felt a burst of pure, indescribable joy flood his old heart.

"Da, I am!" he said confidently and then gently took her nearest hand, caressing it softly.

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

Major Katyusha Braginskaya, correction, General Katyusha Braginskaya (she had given herself a promotion) was striding through the Government building with little Miss Ivanova at her heels. Dressed in full Red Army General's uniform, her medals clanking, she was just as, if not more, imposing than her little brother. Furthermore, pregnancy hormones raging and the fact that she'd just had to go out and buy a new bra – 44HH – did not mean she was in a good mood.

The top boss himself – Comrade Brezhnev – had flown all the way from Moscow to Leningrad to meet his Nation's stand-in. Probably because he was getting on in years, had been told his Nation – who was troublesome anyway – was 'on holiday' and probably because his wife had been nagging him, Brezhnev was also not in a good mood. (Brezhnev was a wily old fox and had seen the top secret files on what had happened the night one of his predecessors, Stalin, had died and thus treated Russia like a doting grandfather would treat an errant grandson – with a lot of patience, lots of treats and not a little concern.)

Therefore, Miss Ivanova, who followed Katya like a puppy through the winding corridors, carrying the shopping and her handbag, was expecting this particular meeting to be explosive.

* * *

><p>Vienna Police Station<p>

"Well, isn't this grand?" England said in his most sarcastic voice. "Haven't we done bloody marvellous?"

Belarus, her face still white, after seeing Hungary getting into the ambulance with the blood-soaked Austria, slumped on the bench next to him.

They – meaning America, England, Belarus and France – were in a police cell. The Austrian official was busy negotiating with the Austrian Police Commissioner that they were not terrorists, bank robbers but just inept Nations. Although, obviously he couldn't tell him this.

"It could have been worse..." America muttered dejectedly. He was fed up. Heroes didn't sit in police cells. He felt very un-heroic. It wasn't his fault Austria had been shot was it? It wasn't his fault that they didn't even get past that receptionist – she did look tough. Now, he just wanted to go home. He considered telephoning his brother, surely he would bail him out?

"Worse... worse!" England was appalled. "How could it possibly be worse? We failed. Austria could be dead now because of your idiotic, stupid plan... You never listen to me. Nobody ever listens to me. What is it going to be next time? A giant robot?"

America looked up, his eyes shining, "That's it! That's why we failed... dude..." and was punched by Belarus.

"Arthur is right, you are an idiot," she said and slumped back down beside England, the latter Nation crossed his arms and turned away.

France was sat on the opposite bench still snivelling, "I have always loved Austria... he has always been there for me..."

"Shut up you stupid frog... You bloody love everybody don't you? Besides, you bloody well fought him, so shut your face," England retorted.

There was silence.

"Now what?" Belarus said quietly.

"Now what, what?" England said, his arms still crossed.

"Well, we have to do something!" she said, "In less than 24 hours, this painting is going to be put in front of the world's media. You are all on it... well, you're not - stupid America..."

America just grunted, deciding he was going to sulk.

"...and then our secret is out. Not just yours but all of us...We have to stop it somehow."

Nobody said anything. England had turned his back on everyone and so was facing the wall, however, he kept stealing glances at Belarus. France snivelled. America sulked.

"Well, I thought I was in the presence of the great Allies... the Allied Powers who defeated Nazism in 1945... who fought on the beaches, who fought in the air... who fought..." Belarus ran out of words, she couldn't remember the rest of Churchill's speech and floundered and then shut up.

France looked up, tear-stained cheeks broke into a kind of smile.

America grunted.

England jumped to his feet, "By golly, woman, you're right! We are the Allies, we did it before and we can do it again!"

France slowly got to his feet and attempted to smooth his greasy hair down, all thoughts of being unsexy were now gone, "Angleterre, do you have your wand?" he said. And for once, the word 'wand' was not accompanied by a horrid leer.

"No... damn and blast. I left it behind at Roderich's place..." England sat back down dejected.

A clear voice suddenly came to them through the bars of the cell, "_You_ don't have your wand, Arthur, but _I_ do..."

They all looked up... as a familiar face smiled back at them with much amusement and waved England's suitcase at them (the very one Belarus had packed before leaving London). "Nice to catch up with you all... what on earth has been going on?"

* * *

><p>Vienna Hospital<p>

"Dude Liz!"

This was not what Hungary wanted to hear. She'd been sat in that awful room for hours, evening had set in and darkness was pressing against the window and she'd heard nothing. She'd asked several times, but was told Austria was still in surgery. 'Touch and go' they said. So she'd sat and read all the rubbishy magazines.

She ignored the two imbeciles who charged in.

"Yo, how's it hanging?" Prussia yelled. He was feeling pretty pleased with himself, they'd done an epic rescue, dude chick was alright, Russia hadn't killed them... yet. And best of all, in Prussia's eyes they'd visited Switzerland's bedside. It was always fun to taunt fellow Nations when they were paralyzed. He guessed that he would, soon enough, be paying for all this – probably with blood – but until then he was damned well going to enjoy himself.

"Go away," she said and turned away.

Denmark tried to pull Prussia away.

"Just seen Vash... kesese, hilarious. They've unstiffened him but he still can't talk. They should try throwing money around. He'll get his arse off the bed, then!" Prussia laughed at his own joke.

Hungary shook her head, afraid to speak in case the tears started again.

"Come on, dude, dude Liz doesn't need us here," Den said, trying to pull Prussia away.

"What you doing here, anyway? Did you come in with Lily?" Prussia carried on oblivious.

"Yes, yes, I did..." Hungary whispered.

"Kesese Switzy dude kills me..."

Denmark frowned. There was something wrong. This day was going from bad to badder, he thought in his drunken head.

Before Denmark could shove Prussia out of the door, said door opened and a doctor came in. He raised an eyebrow at the two persons – both still in damp clothes from the swimming pool rescue, one holding a bottle of beer, one with red mischievous eyes and turned to Hungary.

"Miss Herdervary?"

She nodded and stood up, taking a deep breath, "Is he going to be alright?" she whispered and clasped her hands together as if in prayer.

"Yeah mate, did you manage to unbend him? Kesese!" Prussia laughed again but was nudged by Den, who shook his head warningly.

"Erm, I'm not sure what you mean?" the doctor said frowning, "It's about Herr Edelstein..."

"Roderich's in here?" Denmark asked suddenly, remembering to use the Austrian's human name. Suddenly it made sense.

"Kesese! What did he do? Lose his wallet? This is priceless... this day just gets better..."

Denmark disagreed with this when he saw the heart-break evident on Hungary's face.

The doctor ignored Prussia, as so many before have and since and turned back to Hungary, "We managed to extract the bullet. It looks like he's going to pull through, but the next few hours are crucial."

Hungary sagged with relief and Denmark caught her, finding himself for the second time in one day, holding a female Nation in his arms – without any sexual intent. He was quite proud of himself and just wished Norway, Sweden and Finland could be there to see it.

"Specs? Bullet? What?" Prussia frowned, the big grin was gone from his face.

"He was a hero," Hungary said, her face buried in Denmark's chest. Why did he smell of chlorine? "He saved me from a bullet."

This was beyond Prussia's comprehension, "What?" he said again.

"He leapt in front of a bullet that was meant for me..." she said again and then looked up into Denmark's eyes and asked, "Why are you wet and smell of chlorine? Have you been swimming?"

"It's a funny thing..." Den started to say.

Prussia was still trying to compute through his small brain exactly what Hungary had told him, "Kesese, no way! Did they fire money at you?"

Hungary whirled around and punched him, hard.

"Dude!" Prussia held his now broken nose.

"He could die!" she yelled and then burst into sobs on Den's chest.

"... we fell into a swimming pool..." Den began his story.

"He ain't gonna die...He's too mean to die... He still has all his savings..." Prussia was saying, and started to stuff tissues up his nostrils. How many times today was he going to be smacked in his awesome face by other Nations?

"...it never used to be there..." Den continued his story.

"...Besides he never goes anywhere without his massive wallet..." Prussia said, starting to sound a tad anxious.

"... Well when I say we fell into the pool, it was more the truck fell into the pool..." Den said lamely.

"...And he'll never die before me cos he knows I'll just get all his precious money and spend it..." Prussia was actually sounding more and more desperate.

"...But we were in the truck..." Den added sadly to this tale.

"...He's like Switzerland, throw some money about and he'll be out of that operating room quicker than Den can drink a beer..." Prussia said, rubbing his eyes. He had something in his right eye, it wasn't a tear and anyone who said it was would get an awesome fist in their un-awesome face.

"...And dude chick Latvia was in the truck..."

Hungary was trying to listen to all this and then finally she snapped, "Shut the bloody hell up, both of you... Prussia, I know you care about him really, so just shut up. Den... is Latvia alright? What about the baby? Does Russia know?"

"Ja! She is... Nein, he doesn't."

"Nah, he's an idiot. If she was 9 months gone he wouldn't know... So they got this bullet out of him, then?" Prussia said, turning the conversation back.

Hungary nodded, "It looks like it," she said with much relief.

"I'm amazed he didn't hang on to it, he's such a tight arse. Specs never gives anyone anything," Prussia said, but the relief was evident on his face.

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

"What do you mean I'm no longer Mrs Russia? Are you kidding me?" Katya shrieked.

Mr Brezhnev, with back-up from the Head of the KGB, no less, and also the Soviet Ambassador for Ukraine, sighed. His large beetly black eyebrows shot up (rather like England's – except Arthur's were blond) and he turned to the KGB boss sat next to him.

"Miss Braginskaya, we've located your brother. Ivan will be back soon..."

'Not soon enough', the KGB boss thought. Already several high-ranking government and military officials had threatened to resign unless Katya left, citing bullying, intimidation and being forced to stand in a corner with a dunce's cap on their head – even Russia at his worst was never this bad. Indeed a plate of custard creams and a bottle of vodka would usually calm him.

"Where is he?" Katya said, with her hands on her hips. "I've heard nothing since Warsaw."

"Our agent, Major Bollockoff has been extremely busy in her covert operations..."

Miss Ivanova stood next to Katya nodded, "That's my big sis!" she squeaked.

Katya turned and looked at her, "My God," she exclaimed, "You've sent a little mouse like _her_ off to bring Vanya back?" Katya was rather hoping her little brother wouldn't come back. Much as she loved him, she hoped that he and Latvia would run away together and she could be left in charge. The power had clearly gone to her head.

"Miss Braginskaya, your erm... contribution to the crisis has been very welcome... and your efforts will be rewarded but..."

"Can I keep the title of General?"

The three men looked at each other, Brezhnev nodded - he just wanted to get home.

"Da, you can..."

"Well, I'm here if you need me. You know, I don't think Vanya will just come back with that Major Bollockoff quite so easily," Katya said wisely.

The KGB Head shook his head confidently, "Miss Bollockoff is a very efficient and capable officer who is used to dealing with dangerous individuals. She can take care of herself. Be reassured, Miss Ukraine, that Mr Russia will be returning."

* * *

><p>Warsaw, Poland<p>

Svetlana was an efficient and capable woman who was used to dealing with dangerous individuals. However, Romano could not be classed as dangerous in any way shape or form... unless it was in the ways of seduction...

The Italian and the Russian were in Poland's very pink bedroom on Poland's very pink heart-shaped bed doing things that constituted Romano shouting "Colosseum!" at various intervals.

* * *

><p>Vienna Hospital<p>

"You are not coming with me..." Latvia argued as the hospital porters wheeled her down to the Obstetrics department.

Russia, for that was who she was arguing with, ignored her and loped alongside, holding her hand and grinning stupidly.

"Vanya, sod off. I don't need you here..." since waking up, she had barely stopped telling him off. He had been surprised when she'd told him it was his fault that she'd almost drowned.

"You never listen... you wouldn't let me go... that's why I ran away..."

"Aija..." he'd tried to remonstrate, say something, anything...

"Gil and Den rescued me..."

"I'm going to kill them..."

"For rescuing me?"

"Nyet, for almost drowning you..."

"I wouldn't have been in that truck if it wasn't for you being such an idiot with those handcuffs..."

The porters exchanged glances at this.

Estonia trudged behind them, saying nothing, but listening.

"But... but... I did that because I love you..."

Latvia had no idea what to say to that, she closed her eyes and then finally said, "You don't love me, you just think you can own me. I can't cope with all this. It's too much. Your temper scares me... And the baby... and..." she was cut off as they wheeled her into a room.

The door closed in Russia's face.

"She hates me..." he said and turned and started to walk away slowly.

Estonia shook his head, "Sir, wait!" he said.

Russia stopped with a look of bewilderment on his face. All he knew was that Latvia was pregnant and she didn't love him... she didn't want the baby, how could she? He was not a nice person, an evil monster, Prussia was right, he was a fat commie bastard. Tears sprang to his eyes.

Estonia pointed at him, "Sir, wait there!" and then pushed open the double doors and strode in.

Latvia was laid on an examining table, her hospital gown pulled up and a nurse smearing cold jelly on her mid-section.

"Push off, Ed," she said, "I can't be bothered with all this, not now."

Estonia ignored her and turned to the nurse and said quietly, "Can you give me a minute?"

The nurse, batting her eyelashes at Estonia's stolen sexiness, nodded and left.

"Right young lady, you are going to listen to me, now," he said sternly.

Latvia was taken aback. Estonia was always the quietest one, the one who kept out of trouble, went off to make tea when Russia went into kolkol mode, got out of all the embarrassing escapades that she and Lithuania always seemed to find themselves in.

"Russia adores you, loves you... I've lived with him far longer than you and I know him better than you and I've never seen him like this over someone... even China..." Estonia paused.

"That's not love, that's possession," she said confidently, but her lip trembled.

"He's been blown up, shot at, been thrown in the Baltic Sea – which he swam by the way, thank you for asking - God he still smells of seaweed, poisoned, our car crashed into a tree, been beaten up... although he did a lot of the beating... erm and got crushed by a Murphy bed." Estonia said all this in one long breath. When he thought about it, he wondered how on earth they'd survived and realised with a jolt, that Russia had saved _his _life many times.

Latvia's eyebrows shot up at this. Who on earth kills someone by Murphy bed?

"And do you know what, all the way through? All the way here? All he talked about?"

Latvia shook her head, tears forming in her eyes.

"You. Getting to you. Making sure you were safe."

Latvia gulped.

"So don't say another word, young lady," Estonia (or Epicstonia) said and turned and left.

Latvia laid on the trolley, tears smearing her cheeks and gulped big breaths of air. The nurse came back in, along with a radiographer.

"We're going to check everything's alright with the baby. It might be too early to tell as you're six weeks but... we should be able to pick up a heartbeat..." the woman was saying.

Latvia put a hand up, "Just a minute," she said shakily and to the women's incredulity, jumped off the trolley, pushed open the door and shouted down the corridor at the retreating backs of Estonia and Russia.

"Vanya! Get in here, now!"

Estonia smiled as Russia spun around and ran back so fast he left skid marks on the tiled floor.

He pulled her into a hug and held her as gently as he could.

"Do you want to see and hear the baby?" she whispered up at him.

Russia just nodded, his purple eyes watering. (He actually was wondering how this would work. Surely the baby was just like a tiny tadpole? Was there a microphone in there, a camera or something? He looked at Latvia's stomach area worriedly.)

He needn't have worried. In fact he was amazed when the first steady but rather fast beats were heard. It sounded like a galloping horse. Russia's eyes widened as he held Latvia's hand and stroked her palm gently. A very tiny black blob appeared on the screen and Russia gave a gasp of wonderment.

"Did we do that?" he asked, almost childlike.

Latvia nodded, 'Oh God oh God oh God, I'm going to cry again'... she thought.

Latvia smiled up at him, but felt very exposed, her stomach - which she thought already had a layer of fat on it - looked floppy and white to her, and she was aware that she smelled of chlorine. But all that was forgotten as they listened to fast chugging heartbeat of new life.

"Everything seems absolutely fine, Miss Gallante," the radiographer smiled as she passed the Doppler machine over Latvia's stomach.

Latvia wasn't listening. She and Russia were gazing deep into each others' eyes.

"I love you, my little Latvia," Russia murmured.

"I love you, my Russia..." Latvia whispered back.

**Author's Notes: Leonid Brezhnev was the 'boss' of the Soviet Union (as mentioned before I think) during the early 1980s, at the time this story is set he would have been in his early 80s.**

**Doppler machine – what they use for ultrasound scans of fetal heartbeats. If anyone disagrees that you can't hear a heartbeat at six weeks ... you're wrong. Don't argue, I've been there and done that, bought the t-shirt and sent it back. You can pick up an ultrasound picture of a foetus at six weeks, but it would be very faint and look like a small black blob.**

**Can anyone guess who the Nation is who turns up at the police station? Also the suitcase that Belarus packed – see Chapter 9 – and foreshadowing.**

**Yes, I know – very soppy.**

**Next Chapter – A king returns, more Russ-Lat fluffiness, more angst.**


	34. The Return of the King

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Celtic Nasctha, peppermint twertle, Hakatori, Irishmaid, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: angst, fluff with a strong dose of silliness (courtesy of Pru-Den), swearing.**

Chapter 33 – The Return of the King (okay I know this isn't a song title...)

Austria's Mansion, Vienna

"So, like, where is everybody?" Pol asked the hippy-fied Germany lounging around smoking some sort of smelly cigarette.

"Chill, dude..." Germany held up a v sign. The German Nation was still sporting a large black eye where Russia had hit him but other than that and the fact that he was wearing a ti-dyed shirt which Pol thought looked totally hideous, he seemed unscathed.

"Well, where is Russia, Latvia and Esty?" Lithuania asked.

He and Pol had watched the news earlier and seen the America, England, Belarus and France being carted away in a police van – siren blaring and had been horrified when the newsreader had announced that one of the 'terrorists' had been fatally wounded. The last they'd seen of their fellow Nations had been at Toys R Us, when they'd watched them being bundled into a police van.

Germany shrugged.

Italy marched in, "You are disturbing our military manoeuvres," the small Italian said in a weird German accent. He felt vaguely safe saying this to a small cross-dresser and the gentlest Nation there ever was – Lithuania.

Lithuania was not in a good mood. He was seriously worried and wanted to know who had been 'fatally' wounded. So he grabbed the Italian and said, "Where is everybody? Where is Estonia, Russia and Latvia? Tell me now..."

Italy tried to shrug away and then mustered up some of the German-ness (if that's a word) that had been transferred to him, however, his Italian-ish persevered, "Ve, don't hit me... Russia asked me that... Latvia was stretchered away to hospital..."

Lithuania dropped him, "What? Had she been shot?" he asked.

"Nein... ve..." Italy got himself confused.

Then a silver-haired, red-eyed man swaggered in, "Yo..." he said, with a smirk on his awesome face.

"Pru?" Lithuania stared. He did look like Prussia, only less... Prussian and younger.

"Nah, that's my dad..."

"Oh God, there's another one..." Pol sighed dramatically.

"He's awesome, my dad is. He's going to be a Nation again..." the young Kaliningrad yelled.

Poland marched up to the young man, put his hands on his hips and stuck his powdered nose right up to his face, "Listen, young man... how old are you? Little more than a babe in arms? Keep your nose out, sweetie, okay? Don't play with the big boys or you'll get eaten for breakfast..."

The young fledgling Nation frowned and with the arrogance born of him through pure genetics, kesesed, "You're Poland! And you're Lithuania! My dad could beat you... with me at his side..."

Lithuania shook his head and started to pull Pol away. However, Pol was never one for surrendering – to anyone, be they Germans, Russians and certainly not some little 'whippersnapper', "Go home back to your mummy before I kick your arse all the way back to Królewiec ," Pol said, using the Polish version of the young man's name.

Toris pushed Pol out of the way, "What happened?" he asked.

Kaliningrad glared at Pol, disturbed that he'd been threatened by a man in a skirt, but answered Toris, "Dad and the big Viking dude drove their truck into the pool, some girl dude chick got stuck and my dad rescued her, cos he's awesome! And then they took her to hospital and then this big Russkie dude... he gave me the shivers... he came and punched a lot of people and then stormed off. That little Italian dude crapped his pants."

Toris nodded, "Thank you," he said and then added, "By the way, you look just like your father, but stay away from him because he's bad news..."

Poland and Lithuania left to the sounds of "My dad's awesome, man! He and me are going to rule Europe... well maybe not that fat commie dude's place cos that's not awesome... but yeah, France and Germany and... all those other countries... maybe not Switzerland cos he's a bit of sharp-shot, and maybe not England cos it's always raining and foggy but..." his yelling faded out as they sat in the taxi.

Poland instinctively reached for his pistol, Lithuania put a restraining hand on his arm, "Leave him, Pol, he's just a kid."

As the taxi drove down the drive, they passed another coming in, carrying a familiar fellow Nation, however, Pol and Toris were too busy discussing the silliness of the younger generation, whilst the incoming Nation was too busy formulating a plan from what they'd seen from the television news.

* * *

><p>Vienna Hospital<p>

"I just need to thank someone," Latvia said as they signed the paperwork so she could be discharged. The head midwife told her they needed the bed, since the baby seemed fine, and the medical team had ensured she was not suffering from pneumonia, they'd agreed she could go home.

Russia followed her through the hospital as she tried to find Prussia and Denmark – her two 'rescuers'. As her clothes were still damp, she wore Russia's shirt and winter jacket (both of which came to her knees), and hospital issue pyjama bottoms, Russia making do with just his sweater (and obviously other clothes).

They finally found her 'heroes' – they were sat outside the intensive care unit, Denmark reading the women's magazines and commenting loudly on the problem pages, Prussia sat hunched forward chewing his fingernails.

"What are you two doing here?" Latvia asked them.

Prussia glanced up, his red eyes took in Russia and he backed away quickly, "Fuck off, man, we saved her life..."

Russia stepped forward and, to Prussia's surprise, did what he'd only done once before and had sworn he would never do again, shook his hand.

He then shook Den's hand, thanking him for saving his little sunflower.

Den shrugged and motioned to the crumpled edition of Cosmopolitan, "... apparently you have to love yourself before you can love anybody else..."

Russia frowned.

Latvia ignored them both - she'd grown used to this bizarre behaviour, "Why are you here? Has something happened?"

"Specs is in there..."

"Specs?"

"Austria."

"What happened?" Latvia sighed, why were they so bloody obtuse?

"Got shot saving Liz's life," Prussia said. He still couldn't quite get his head around Austria leaping in front of somebody and taking a bullet, not unless money was involved.

Latvia plonked herself down, "Oh no..." and then sniffed.

Russia sat next to her and gently pulled her into a hug.

"Where's Hungary? Is she in there?" Russia asked slowly, holding Latvia against him.

Prussia nodded. "They wouldn't let me in... Not that I wanted to go in... But I bet if he heard my awesome voice he'd soon get his arse off the bed..."

Russia frowned at this and was about to say something when Den interrupted him, "Austria dude was a real hero, dude..."

Latvia sobbed against Russia's chest, "You're all heroes..." she sniffed.

They were joined soon enough by Lithuania, Poland and Estonia (who had scoured the hospital looking for them, having been left to sort out the insurance paperwork).

Lithuania looked relieved that Latvia was fine, startled when Prussia told him with glee that she was pregnant, worried when told Austria was in a coma.

"Coma?" Toris asked.

"Ja, but how could they tell? I mean I always thought he could bore himself to death anyway..." Prussia stood up again and marched up and down. Den watched him, saying nothing. Gilbert had been making 'jokes' for the past hour and flinging himself up and down the corridor, humming and singing idiotic songs – the worry etched on his face.

"Have you come to see Vash? Because he's in the ICU room 2..." a small voice called out.

"Bloody hell, it's a convention..." Prussia muttered.

"Lily, sweetie... Vash? Is he still paralysed?" Pol went up to the young girl Nation and gave her a hug.

She nodded, "He'll be fine... they say he's just suffering from shock... but why are you all...?"

There was silence which was then broken by Russia (who hated silence and being surrounded by lots of Nations), "It wasn't me!" he said hurriedly.

Latvia wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned into his shoulder again.

"Specs got shot..."

"Who?" Lily asked innocently.

They all looked at one another shiftily.

"Austria got himself shot... he was awesome, man... jumped in front of Hungary to save her from a bullet... dude..." Den explained in his own imitable style.

"Father...?" Lily crumpled against Pol's shoulder.

"Father?" Prussia raised an eyebrow, "What else have I missed? Dude we were only at the bottom of that pool for five minutes..."

"Austria and Hungary are Lily's mum and dad," Lithuania explained.

Poland gently stroked Lily's hair and hugged her, "There, there... you hold on to your Auntie Pol, sweetie..."

"Fucking 'ell... old Roddy and ballbuster Herdervary... kesese!" Prussia thought this funny, but was stopped with a look from Russia.

Lily pulled away from Pol, shoved Den up a seat and sat down beside Latvia. Latvia, one arm around Russia, put her other arm around her friend, so that she leaned on Russia, whilst Lily leaned on her.

"Oooh... Raivis..." Lily began, in between sobs.

"Hmmm?"

"I want to apologise to you and Mr Russia..." she began timidly and sat up.

Latvia frowned and also sat up.

"I'm sorry I kissed Mr Russia..." Lily said quietly.

Latvia looked at Russia and then back at Lily.

"Bloody hell, how drunk were you?" Prussia all but yelled.

Den picked up his bottle of beer and shook it... his slow brain trying to work out exactly how many he'd drunk that day.

Russia flushed bright red, "Erm... it was... she..." and then shrugged. He still really had no idea what had happened.

"I wanted to make Vash think that me and Mr Russia were... you know... and then he might think Icy would be good enough for me... sorry Mr Russia... but this happened..." Lily looked at Latvia with such sad eyes, that Latvia threw her arms around her and held her.

"It's alright..." Latvia said.

Pol turned to Toris, "This is like being in a soap opera, Liet..."

Toris nodded, a bad soap opera, he thought.

"...But don't kiss him again," Latvia added with a smile.

Russia grinned at this. Nobody had ever been possessive over _him _before.

"...But you can hug him if you like..." Latvia said.

"Can I?" Den asked and received a thump from somebody.

They all shut up as Hungary came out and stopped when she saw them all. Her face was pale, her hair a mess, dried blood on her skirts. She looked around them all, with a dazed expression on her face and then all of a sudden, someone – she thought later it might have been Estonia – put a polystyrene cup of coffee in her hand, another handed her a tissue, Den gave her his half-empty bottle of beer – which she handed back.

She sat down and they all made way for her and Lily took hold of her arm and wrapped it around her waist and leaned on her shoulder.

She couldn't speak, couldn't think of what to tell them.

"Well... what's he doing? Is he awake yet? Idle so and so... play him some bloody Mozart – preferably by some crap pianist and he'll be ranting soon enough..." Prussia broke the horrid silence.

Hungary shook her head, "No change," she croaked out, "He was dead for ten minutes... they brought him back... but..." she closed her eyes and leaned her head back.

"Well that's not good enough...If he dies who am I going to annoy? I can't prank big fat commie dude cos he beats me up and England's no fun... America's too easy..." Prussia started to say, but was shushed by Denmark's large beery hand on his gob.

Russia said quietly, "If you're going through hell, keep going..."

Pol nodded in agreement.

"I bet you would know, eh?" Pru asked, quietly, "... and I bet you kicked ass while you were there?"

Russia nodded in all seriousness.

This startling imagery was interrupted by a nurse who jumped back when she saw the number of 'visitors'. "I'm sorry, but we can't allow all these people in here," she said.

"Sweetie... we're not 'people'," Pol started to remonstrate.

Hungary sighed, "You'd better all go. It's getting late anyway," and then she laughed, "Don't you all have wars to start? Countries to invade?"

"Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt, gave it back, bought another one..." Gilbert answered.

"You got a t-shirt? I didn't get a t-shirt..." Russia murmured with regret.

"Go home..." Hungary said.

"We don't have a home..." Latvia said, but was pulled into Russia's arms and hugged.

"Right come on, let's go to Austria's house for the night... it's getting late," Estonia said, taking charge. His new found sexiness appeared to have given him some new-found authority.

Nobody argued.

Lily turned to Hungary, "I'll stay here with you tonight, if that's alright?" she said.

Hungary nodded, held out a hand and clasped the younger Nation's smaller one, "We can keep each other company," she said.

"Bleurgh... bloody hell... pass me a bucket..." Prussia said, starting to swagger out, but he turned, hurried back and said to Hungary, "Tell Specs when he wakes up that we're all partying at his place and we've drunk all his expensive wine..."

Hungary smiled and patted him on the head, "I know you care... stop pretending you don't..."

* * *

><p>Central Police Station, Vienna<p>

Sharing a police holding cell with France – even though he had 'lost' his 'sexiness', a sulking America (England had called him the Incredible Sulk) and Belarus was not on his list of things to do before he died. Although he loved Belarus from the bottom of his heart, he didn't really want to spend the night in a police cell with her.

However, their saviour arrived in an unexpected form.

"You lot were on the six o' clock news, right across Europe..." their visitor told them.

"Lou!" America leapt to his feet and ran to the bars, banging his head.

Belgium reached a hand through and stroked his head like he was a large dog at the pound.

"Belgium, thank God it's you!" England said.

"You never returned my calls!" America said, his big blue eyes turned all soppy and, like a large stray Labrador, he turned them on Belgium and then wrinkled his nose.

Belgium sighed and melted, "Oooh Alfie..." she said.

"Never mind all that..." Belarus said, pushing America out of the way, "Did you say you brought Arthur's wand and cloak?"

Belgium nodded and showed them the suitcase. "I saw you on the news... figured you might need some help, flew over, went by Mr Austria's house and saw your suitcase, Arthur. You've had the same case since... what? 1914?" Belgium told them, proving that she was perhaps the most sensible Nation. She then added, "What happened to Mr Austria?"

"He got shot, saving Liz," Belarus said and then clasped Arthur's hand.

"Never mind all that. Are you going to break us out? Have you brought guns, weapons... even a cake slicer for crazy-ass Russkie girl here?" America yelled.

Belarus snarled, "I am not Russian!"

"Alfred... I meant to ring you back to tell you something..." Belgium began and then added, "No I didn't bring weapons... the authorities think I'm here as a lawyer."

"Thank heavens for that... because of course what we really really needed was more guns to shoot people with... and bombs and oh I don't know... maybe a tank?" Arthur's sarcastic mode was fully switched on.

America was trying to concentrate on two conversations at once so said, "A tank..." dreamily and then, "... something to tell me?" with a concentrated frown.

"No cake slicer..." Belgium said, "But I did find this..." and she opened the case and pulled out a sword.

"Well, I say!" England's eyes lit up.

"You have rummaged through his suitcase?" France finally perked up, "Did you find anything naughty? Like..." but he gave up, he could think of nothing 'naughty' or otherwise. His powers were obviously fading fast and he slumped back down on the bench.

Belgium smiled and carefully inserted the sword through the bars of the cell.

England reached out and took it. The jewelled hilt fit his hand like a glove, like it had never been away, almost as if it were made for him.

"I thought this was lost... I returned it to the Lady..." he murmured.

"It was under your bed," Belarus said quietly.

Arthur held the sword up, his arm outstretched. The blade glowed, words etched in Welsh seemed to glitter and Arthur himself seemed to grow in stature.

The other Nations stepped back, even America looked in awe, "A real superhero!" he whispered.

Belarus blinked – it looked as if the old English Nation was wearing armour, a crown upon his head, a long cloak, his bearing suddenly noble and majestic.

"Wow!" America muttered and looked as if he were going to get out his autograph book.

Arthur ignored them all, but smiled at the rush of memories – some good, some bad assailed him. "Guinevere..." he whispered the ancient queen's name with a look of sad longing on his face and brought the sword blade down onto the concrete floor.

There was flash of blinding white light. All the Nations, and not just the ones in the cell, felt for a milli-second the Earth stop its rotation around the sun... and magic as old as the Earth worked its power...

To be continued...

**Author's Notes:**

**Did anyone spot the foreshadowing in Chapter 9... Belarus finding the sword under the bed...?**

**I'm assuming you all know what the sword is? And who the Lady is? And of course who Arthur becomes...?**

**Not many chapters to go, people, please feel free to review/comment/PM.**


	35. Good Vibrations

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Hakatori, Irishmaid, psychokittenterror, Celtic Nasctha, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: Fluff all the way, Russ-Lat fluff, some innuendo (France), swearing, stupidity – all a nice change after the angst of the past chapters**

Chapter 34 – Good Vibrations

The tremor all the Nations of the earth felt was so deep that geologists and seismologists of the day concluded that it was a 'deep' earthquake way below the earth's crust and therefore causing no damage – only a slight jarring of the earth's rotation.

Russia, being the largest of the Nations and therefore, feeling it the most, plonked himself down where he was – in Austria's driveway - as he felt his country tremble. Everyone looked around dazedly.

"What the fuck was that?" Prussia asked, in his own inimitable style.

"Has your Government been letting off massive bombs again, Braginski?" Poland asked, straightening his skirt, he then added, "Liet, has my mascara run?"

Toris shook his head, the queasiness overtook him and he leaned against the taxi.

"Nyet, I don't know what it is..." Russia answered.

"I feel ... different..." Estonia said, leaning against Denmark.

"Dude little Baltic!" Den exclaimed.

Both Latvia and Lithuania turned around.

"You're not sexy any more!" Den said to Estonia.

Estonia tried to swish his hair... nothing. He also had to put his glasses back on – and so was geeky once more. He opened his mouth... but no honhonhons would come.

"I'm not sexy anymore!" he said – with a little regret. However, he had found that being sexy had been more trouble than it was worth.

* * *

><p>Vienna Police Station<p>

"Dude!" America yelled, "That was totally awesome! Man, you rock!" He added as the bars of the cell shimmered and shook and... were gone.

Belgium ran in and flung her arms around America, "Ooooh, Alfie!" she said against his chest, having a crafty feel of his pecs while she did so.

France spun around, his hair was back to being its luxuriant burnished gold, he swished it experimentally and twirled it between his fingers. He slouched up and down sexily, his blue eyes shining, "Honhonhon!" he said seductively. "My superpowers are back! Je t'adore, Angleterre!"

* * *

><p>Austria's Mansion<p>

"Ve, Germany! I'm not Germany!" Italy said, incomprehensibly.

"Oooh Italy..." Germany said and pulled the smaller Nation into his arms, "Gott sei Dank! I'm me again," the large blond Nation said and then hurriedly dropped the sleepy-eyed Italian on the floor, "...And I did not just pull you into my arms to kiss you... definitely not..."

"Oooh Luddy..."

* * *

><p>Vienna Hospital<p>

"I'm going to kill him!" the Swiss Nation, the paragon of neutrality, suddenly sat up, his normally straight blond hair stuck up on end, his green eyes were wild with rage. He attempted to jump out of bed, but was stopped by a nurse.

"Erm, Herr Zwingli? You must take it easy... you've had a shock..."

Switzerland ignored her, "My little sister is in grave danger and about to be taken away by a psychopathic sadistic, bloodthirsty monster..." he ranted.

The nurse shook her head and administered the sedative.

* * *

><p>Austria's Mansion<p>

The 'psychopathic sadistic, bloodthirsty monster' was currently sat on the floor in the dining room trying to blow up a flat air bed.

Latvia should really have interrupted and told him that it just wasn't going to inflate whilst his 200 pound weight was sat on it. However, she was quiet enjoying watching the muscles of his back rippling (he'd taken off his sweater and wrapped it around her as she'd said she was cold) and the corded muscles of his chest straining as he puffed in and out. "Hmmm..." Latvia murmured. She had also gasped at the sight of the many bruises on his back and chest from the fights he'd been in.

"Wut?" Russia asked. He felt a little embarrassed to be bare-chested, blushing about his numerous scars - although he hadn't taken off his scarf.

"Nothing... keep blowing," Latvia answered, leaning back against some cushions to watch the 'show'.

* * *

><p>Vienna Police Station<p>

"Can you do anything else with that thing?" America asked.

Arthur considered this, there were several places he'd like to stick his sword. Particularly as France was now prancing around 'honhoning'. However, he didn't answer, but led them out of the police station. Although his 'armour' and 'crown' had disappeared, his noble countenance remained, and the police officers all cleared a path for him, his fellow Nations followed – temporarily – and only temporarily, silenced.

* * *

><p>An ordinary Austrian household, Vienna:<p>

"Papa!"

"What's wrong little Hans?"

"This new toy doesn't work."

"But we only bought it today!"

"I know, but it only sings in Spanish..."

"Where are the instructions?"

"It didn't come with them..."

"Hola! Mi nombre es Antonio!"

"Oooh he has nice... erm packaging."

"Mama! The batteries don't go in there!"

"We'll take him... it... him back to the store tomorrow and get a refund."

"Oh, I think we should keep him..."

"Ah, Signora, can I use your bathroom, per favore?"

"Mama, where are you taking him?"

"He says he needs the bathroom..."

* * *

><p>Austria's Mansion<p>

"So that sword thingy is magical, is it?" America asked for the umpteenth time.

"Yes!" Belarus, France and England all answered him – for the umpteenth time - as they strode down the driveway.

France scattered rose petals as he went, Belarus clung to England's arm, Belgium held America's hand.

"So what's it done, then?" America asked. He'd expected loads of sparks, glowing things, or at least some big awesome demon dude to come out of the floor – but hopefully not Russian-shape. What he'd got were some vibrations and... that was it. Granted, the cell door had disappeared and all the police had stepped back as if some awesome power of pure awesomeness (like the total quantity of the awesome trio x 100 had walked past) but nothing and he felt quite deflated.

"What's it done? What's it done?" England spun around and all but screamed. The sword had by now been put away in its scabbard. Magic like that should not be used willy-nilly, England had explained to Belarus.

"It's sorted everything out, you ignoramus!" England yelled at America.

Belgium sighed, yes America may be an ignoramus, slightly stupid (sometimes), mis-pronounced words, was over-enthusiastic, forever thinking about his stomach (he was moaning at that moment that he was hungry and talking about visiting MacDonalds) and saying 'dude' and 'awesome', but he had a six-pack, gorgeous blue eyes, was fairly reliable in a large fluffy Labrador dog type of way and... the father of her unborn child.

"Alfie... I've got something to tell you..." she began.

"I know, right? That MacDonalds in the centre of Vienna has Star Wars toys on offer with every happy meal... I only need the Obi Wan Kenobi and I've got the full set."

Belgium sighed and just followed England, Belarus and France into the house.

* * *

><p>"This isn't going up!" Russia said sadly.<p>

"Well... perhaps if you didn't sit on it..." Latvia suggested.

"Hmm, I will try some more, but we might have to make do with what we have..."

"Give it to me, I'll try..." Latvia said with a sigh.

France, who was stood outside the door, was in ecstasy, "Ah l'amour! Monsieur Russia and leetle Mademoiselle Latvia ... zay need the help of le grande France!" he yelled and shoved open the door.

France's filthy mind could not really take in the scene in front of him – Russia and Latvia were not in any compromising position at all (to Latvia's regret), although Russia was bare-chested, but both were trying to blow up an airbed.

Russia growled, stood up and chased France back out.

France laughed heartily. He had his sexiness back, his innuendo was back, and he was on the prowl. "Oooh lala, mes amies!" he simpered at Prussia and Denmark, who were rooting on their hands and knees in Austria's kitchen, trying to extract the Austrian's stash of wine out of the under-sink cupboard.

"I like to see a man on his knees! Oh yes!" Francis swaggered across to them.

Prussia and Denmark were often called fools, but this time they had the sense to jump to their feet and place their backs to the wall. "Dude! That ain't nice..." Gilbert exclaimed.

"I had lost my sexiness... young Estonia had it... but he did not use it very much... so it has now returned to me as good as new! Oh yes..."

"Esty's sexiness was awesome, man... You should give it him back for a while." Denmark yelled, "When you've got it, it's just disturbing."

"Ah...Danemark... Matthias... what sweet music we made... just here in zis pantry... ah yes..."

"Bloody hell, Den! Tell me you didn't?" Gilbert almost had a fit.

"Well... it was dark... I thought it was little Latvia dude chick..."

"Ah oui! As did I..." France ran his fingers through his gorgeous locks and sauntered out to find other 'prey'.

"That's not going to fit there..." England's voice sounded exasperated.

"Just pull the zip up then..." Belarus answered him.

"It's bloody well stuck..."

"I thought you said that your magic sword could sort out everything?"

"Well not everything... something's are just too minor for it. It's the major issues that are alright now."

"Well, I think this is pretty major..."

"So do I! It eez very bad if it will not fit... or if it eez stuck... you should not pull ze zip back up..." France blurted out, bursting in.

He found England and Belarus struggling to fit together two single sleeping bags into a double, the zip being stuck.

England glared at him and France was chased out – yet again. "Bloody French tart..." England yelled down the corridor at France's retreating back. He went back into the room where Belarus was sat thinking.

"Erm... Arthur... you know, we could..." She smiled and indicated the more plump airbed than her brother had acquired and raised her eyebrows.

"What?" He asked, completely at a loss.

"You know...?" she tried again.

"Of course! You could have one bag and I'll just take the other... sorted!" Arthur said, slapping his hand to his head.

Belarus sighed heavily.

* * *

><p>"Right how many pizzas should I order and who's paying?" America decided he had better ensure that the most important issue of the day was settled. His stomach was grumbling and snarling like a caged tiger. He hadn't eaten for at least three hours and he was starting to feel faint.<p>

"How many of us are there?" Italy said, immediately at his side.

"I dunno, dude... 10, 12..."

"Ve... we should order erm 12 pizzas and garlic bread..."

"Okay... but what are you lot eating?" America asked, it didn't seem much to him. But everyone had refused to go to MacDonalds with him. Even fat commie dude who would eat anything was 'busy'.

Prussia ran into the hallway as they picked up the telephone, "I've found Specs' wallet!" he yelled.

* * *

><p>Vienna Hospital<p>

At the precise moment that Prussia yelled that he'd found his wallet, Austria's eyes jerked open. The heart monitor gave a little jump, his blood pressure suddenly spiked and he looked around blearily.

"Baking soda... tell England..." he croaked out.

Hungary and Lily, both of whom had fallen asleep in chairs either side of Austria's bedside, jerked awake.

Hungary sat up and grabbed his hand, "Roderich?" she said tentatively.

Lily smiled and reached across and gently took her mother's other hand and squeezed it.

Austria smiled and then lost consciousness again, the heart monitor continuing to 'blip' steadily.

"He's okay! Oh thank you..." Hungary did a little dance and turned and hugged her daughter. "Wait, what did he say?" she asked.

"Something about baking soda and Mr England... I think it's probably the drugs," Lily said. She hugged her mother tightly. Everything was going to be alright. Vash was still sedated but the doctors had reassured her he would be fine in a few days. Her father was going to be alright, they could be one big happy family. She then suddenly remembered something... she'd left Icy still under her bed at home...

* * *

><p>Austria's mansion<p>

The phone rang...

"Will somebody answer that? I'm busy!" Toris yelled – automatically, for it was usually he who answered it at Russia's abode.

America leapt into action, "Dude man... are they here yet? I mean come on... 14 pizzas, large meat feast..."

"Honhonhon oh oui, I love a meat feast..." Francis purred, standing uncomfortably close to America.

"Oooh you're not Dominos Pizza? Oh, Hungary... yep, he is... did he...? Baking soda? Arty? Dunno... yep I will..." America hung up.

"Sooooo?" England said, shoving Francis' hands away before they reached his butt.

"It wasn't Dominos... phew I thought the pizzas were going to be late..." America said with a relief sigh.

Italy nodded alongside him. He'd also been seriously worried.

"No, you bloody fool. You said Hungary's name?"

"Oh yes, it was Hungary..."

"And...?"

"Oh yeah, Austria is okay, I think, she said he woke up said something about you and talcum powder or something... dude, that doesn't seem right, but anyway, and then she said the doctors said it looks like he was over the worst or something."

Prussia practically threw himself into the hallway, "What? He's okay? Austria?" he yelled.

"Yeah, mate. Dude Austria woke up and blah blah blah..." America was already bored. Clearly this sword thingy had sorted it out... apart from that painting thingy which he was going to use his super-awesome superpowers to get hold of tomorrow. He would show them. An ancient, mouldy old sword can't do what a superpower can do.

England twatted him around the head, "Grow up!" he said.

"Well, it's about time! Lying there like the Queen of bloody Sheba while we're here bollocking about... France and his bloody sexiness and big fat commie dude wandering around with no shirt on... dude that's not nice... no bloody beer either. It's not right. I haven't done a decent prank since he got himself shot, how inconsiderate is he? I'll bloody prank him double when he comes out. I mean... I'll have to put some superglue on his piano keys again, or put some blue food dye in his shampoo..." Prussia's eyes lit up as he babbled on, clearly much relieved that his No. 1 victim was on the mend.

Denmark put a hand on his shoulder, "Dude..." he said.

* * *

><p>It was probably the sheer relief that Austria and Switzerland were over the worst. Or the fact that it had been a long day. Or the fact that Prussia and Denmark had found Austria's secret stash of vintage wine.<p>

Whatever it was, the Nations ate their pizzas, drank the wine and bedded down for the night, in various places around the mansion.

Francis, of course, his sexual hormones now returned to him, in pristine condition (Estonia had barely had any use, truth be told, for sex god powers), caught a taxi into the city with Den and Gil. The latter was still babbling about the pranks he was going to do on 'Specs', the big Dane wandering along because he had been promised beer and girls – he rather hoped in that order. America ran after them, "Wait for me, dudes..."

They stopped. "Aw man... are you sure you're allowed? Did you get a note from England?" Prussia asked sarcastically.

"I don't need a note... not anymore. Can we drop in at MacDonalds and get a chicken nugget happy meal?"

"Non!" Francis said with finality.

Belgium watched him 'sod off out with his idiot friends' as England called it, sighed and went back inside to drown her sorrows with non-alcoholic beverage and confide in someone. As it happened, she found Latvia and Belarus both foraging for food in Austria's kitchen.

Poland and Lithuania were bedded down in Austria's caravan, Estonia was on the rather uncomfortable table-that-turned-into-a-bed, wrapped in a sleeping bag, reading up about child trust funds.

"I'm pregnant, it's Alfred's and he's an idiot... what on earth do I do?" Belgium asked her fellow female Nations.

"Snap!"

"Snap!"

"What? Alfred? Well, the big..."

"No... not Alfred, Vanya..."

"Arthur..."

"Oh..."

"Have you told him?" Latvia asked Belgium.

"No... not yet. I don't know. I really like him, he's cute, funny but... he's so immature. I mean honestly, he's just gone out to get the latest Star Trek toy or whatever," Belgium tried to explain. (As a side note, Alfred would have been horrified that she'd gotten Star Wars and Star Trek mixed up.)

"Hmm, they're all immature really, aren't they?" Belarus said as she took out a knife and started slicing bread.

Latvia eyed the knife nervously, she hadn't forgotten the knife-waving in Babys R Us.

"Why are you dressed in pyjamas that say Vienna Hospital? And is that Vanya's shirt and jumper?" Belarus asked.

Latvia nodded, stepping back, hoping that it wasn't a stabbable offence, "I nearly drowned..." she said quickly.

Belgium looked concerned. Belarus with a suddenness that shocked Latvia, hugged the young Baltic, "You should take care of my little niece or nephew. Remember if it is a girl, you will name it after me?" Belarus said.

Latvia, still eyeing the knife that Belarus held nonchalantly in her hand, nodded quickly. Although she didn't think 'crazy-ass bitch' would go down well as a name.

Belarus smiled softly and carried on making her sandwich.

"I think Alfred's cute... in a young daft kind of way..." Latvia said quietly.

"He has a gorgeous body," Belgium said dreamily, picking at a lump of cheese.

"He seems kind and gentle and he's always laughing," Latvia said helpfully. He did, she thought, even if he did keep calling her Latvina or Lovinia or Lativa the latter sounding like a rap artist.

"I caught Arthur kissing him... but I'm not sure... I think they have an unusual brotherly relationship or something," Belarus said and then pointed her knife at Belgium.

Belgium jumped back, "Er... it wasn't my fault... I'm sure..."

"Do you want a sandwich or not?" Belarus asked her brusquely.

Latvia and Belgium exchanged glances. Belgium nodded hurriedly.

"Arthur is very romantic and such a gentleman..." Belarus told them.

Latvia almost choked on her sandwich at this. Belgium, having known England for many centuries did not answer this remarkable statement, but asked another question, "So what do you think? Should I tell him?"

"Do you love him?" Latvia asked the burning question.

Belgium considered it, "Well... he's gorgeous, kind, funny, he's not the brightest bulb in the pack, but you can't have everything..."

"You don't want a man who's cleverer than you," Belarus said, "They tend to escape."

Latvia raised an eyebrow at this.

"Is he good in bed?" Belarus asked the big question.

Belgium spluttered, "You don't mince words!" she said.

"Well?" Belarus insisted.

Belgium took a bite from her sandwich, "Well... he is actually... when he's not shouting about 'may the force be with you' and all that..." she smiled at the memory.

Belarus nodded solemnly, a very serious look on her face.

Belgium, who was still giggling, asked Belarus, "...And Arthur? Is he any good in bed?"

"You've never...?" Belarus asked.

"No... he's more like a brother to me..." Belgium answered.

Belarus had no answer to this but grinned, "He's wonderful... very masterful... I wasn't sure about the dressing up at first... but it is fun," she said finally.

Dressing up? Latvia was frowning. She was also blushing.

Both Nations then turned to her, with obvious anticipation, "Well... Raivis...?" they both said in unison.

Latvia decided to play stupid, "What?" she said dumbly.

"What's Russia like in bed?" Belgium asked. Belarus raised an eyebrow and turned to listen with interest.

Latvia hummed and harred, she felt distinctly un-nerved, particularly with Russia's little sister there – the one who had the massive obsession with him, "Er... I don't know..."

"Eh?" Belgium said, in obvious confusion.

"We've never actually done it in a bed..." Latvia said hurriedly and then took herself out of the door back to Russia – the Nation, not the country.

She found him sat on a flat airbed, a mouldy sleeping bag around him, reading a pregnancy leaflet that he'd picked up from the hospital.

She flung the door shut and sat down beside him, tucking herself into his side, pulling one of his arms around her.

"It says here that you shouldn't eat raw foods like eggs or seafood..." Russia said.

"I've just eaten a cheese sandwich made by your sister..."

Russia smiled at that, "It also says that you should get plenty of rest," he added.

She nodded and lay down on the airbed and pulled him down with her and snuggled into his side, wrapping an arm around his chest.

He pulled the sleeping bag around them. "I need to get another sweater on..." he said. He was still embarrassed about his bare chest. He wasn't used to exposing so much bare flesh.

"No... leave your shirt off..." Latvia murmured as she stroked the fluffy hairs on his chest, tracing her fingers along his many scars. She then followed her fingers with her lips, tracing his scars softly with her lips.

Russia dropped the leaflet, tipped her face up to meet his and kissed her softly.

"Hmmmmm," they both hummed in unison.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and kissed him back, "Vanya..." she whispered.

"Hmmmm?"

"Why do you smell of seaweed?"

"I fell into the sea..." Russia stopped kissing her and looked regretful, "Do you want me to shower?" he asked.

Latvia stroked his broad shoulders, and then ran her fingers down the muscles of his back, "No... just stay here... as you are..." she whispered.

Russia gulped, wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back gently and carefully adjusted his trousers as they got uncomfortably tight. He didn't want to hurt her or the baby. So he took a deep breath and pulled himself back a bit.

Latvia was having none of this and wrapped one of her legs around his waist, hitching as close as she could, cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply.

"I don't want to hurt you..." Russia murmured worriedly, his head spinning (not literally of course).

"... You won't," Latvia reassured him as she started to unbuckle his belt.

He didn't.

**Author's Note:**

**Earthquakes can be classed as deep or shallow – obviously depending on how far below the earth's surface they are. Even a powerful one deep down may cause no damage, whilst a far less powerful but shallow one (as seen in Italy recently) can cause a lot of damage to buildings and deaths. The huge Indian Ocean one of 2004 apparently left the Earth vibrating for a few seconds. (sorry, guys I'm a bit of a geology nerd and took environmental science at Uni).**

**Of course Excalibur is supposed to be a magical sword and be able to conquer all enemies. The legend of King Arthur goes that he is sleeping somewhere – Glastonbury Tor or somewhere in England and when Britain needs him again, he'll reawaken.**

**Next Chapters: an auction, a blockbuster movie ending... kind of, awesomeness takes a world tour.**


	36. Paparazzi

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: PeppermintTwertle, Ever Blazin, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

Warnings: crack, pure crack, swearing and France being France.

Chapter 35 - Paparazzi

Friday am

Prussia woke up with the largest hangover of his long life. He was laid under Austria's kitchen table, his tongue felt like he had been munching on the bottom of Gilbird's cage, he was, incomprehensibly, dressed in ballet tights, a tutu and had a very large felt hat on his head. His cheek was resting on something wet and sticky ... he hoped it was beer. Laid next to him – attired in a waiter's apron and very large boots, was Den.

Prussia sat up, banged his head on the underside of the table and swore he would never, ever go drinking with France again. Or, as France called it 'drinking and wenching'. However, to Prussia's dismay, he could not remember much 'wenching'.

He then realised why – he hadn't had the chance to do any – France fell out of the pantry with no less than four giggling girls. "Honhonhon! Oh yes, what a night!" the French Nation purred.

Prussia snarled at him, "Where the fucking 'ell did we end up? And how come you got all the girls?" he asked.

"Ah oui, Danmark was singing a song about invading Angleterre and re-taking Jorvik... and so we got thrown out of zat bar... but zees beautiful ladies came avec moi."

England sauntered in at that moment. For once in a good mood, having spent a more comfortable night than of late, wrapped in Belarus' arms. However, this good mood was shattered with the magic word 'Jorvik'.

"Jorvik? Jorvik? Bloody wankers... I was just a kid... I'll bloody kick Viking arses next time. Not bloody funny."

"Mon Angleterre..." France purred, trying to wrap his arm around England's shoulders, "You look tired, has Miss Belarus exhausted you?"

"Bugger off, bloody pervert," England said, feeling that he'd actually missed saying those words, but not having missed the wandering hands.

"Mein Gott! What a mess, you cannot leave this kitchen like this... who are these erm.. ladies?" Germany marched in, started to take over the making of breakfast, waved his hand around at the empty bottles of wine and beer, picked up a cloth and started to clean up.

"Bloody Germans..." England muttered, as he went out balancing two cups of tea.

"Bruder! You're Germany again..." Prussia exclaimed.

"Of course I'm Germany, dumpkomf... get yourself cleaned up, you look like a...a..." Germany gave up and started squirting cleaning fluid on the worktops, while bacon and sausages sizzled.

"Fucking 'ell, it's not fucking fair!" Prussia all but yelled, "I was going to be Germany. They asked me!" the Prussian said.

Germany looked his brother up and down and arched an eyebrow, "You're wearing a tutu and do you realise that you have a large penis drawn on your back?" Germany said with much disgust, "This is not appropriate for the representation of the great German Nation. You are a disgrace," he added.

Prussia pulled faces, "You can't say anything, you looked like an over-grown hippy yesterday and you were having a siesta!"

Germany, who was now attired in his usual formal three piece suit was utterly shocked, "I have never had a siesta in my life! Hippy?"

"Oui Monsieur Allemagne, you looked so cute in your ..." here France hesitated and said the ultimate insult, "... flowery blouse!" France honhoned and escorted his 'ladies' out of the kitchen.

"I have never worn a flowery blouse!" Germany yelled back, absolutely appalled at the idea.

"I bloody hope that little dozy Italian has photos..." Gilbert muttered. "Hey, Den... get up yer lazy sack, we've got a job to do!" he said, kicking his friend under the table.

"Job? Don't want a job..." Den dragged himself out from the under the table, rubbed his blond head, pulled out a wad of notes from somewhere Prussia preferred very much never to know about (he'd earned himself a lot of tips the night before as a naked waiter) and stole a sausage out of the frying pan.

"Ja, you're going to help me, dude..." Prussia muttered to him, pulling the big Dane to one side.

"I am?" Denmark mumbled as he stuffed a sausage into his mouth.

"Ja... you my friend..." Prussia winced as he saw the number of telephone numbers written in lipstick on his friend's broad chest. How come he didn't have any telephone numbers written on his chest? "...You are going to help me uncover that painting and reveal my identity as the great Nation of Prussia to the world... Kesesesese!"

However, his brother took note of his plans, shook his head and muttered, "We'll see about that."

Prussia's laugh was interrupted by Russia loping in, now with a jumper over his chest (Prussia didn't really want to see any more manly bare chests making his own look less than awesome). Russia snarled at the kesese, shoved Germany out of the way, grabbed some bread made a hasty bacon sandwich for Latvia, poured himself a coffee and loped back out.

"Well! Manners cost nothing!" Germany harrumphed, but decided not to argue and took his annoyance out on Prussia.

"Get some decent clothes on and make yourself useful and tell everyone to meet in the dining room. We need to get organised before this painting goes up for auction. We have less than..." Here the efficient German checked his watch, "...Two hours..."

* * *

><p>To Germany's dismay it was an hour before the Nations were finally assembled in Austria's 'grand' dining room (said grand dining room had plaster hanging off the wall, a fire and water-damaged carpet and airbeds still scattered around).<p>

Also several of the Nations were entwined with each other.

Belarus was sat on England's knee, her arms around his neck, which seemed to stop him for a time grumbling and moaning.

Latvia was sat on Russia's knee, his arms wrapped around her waist, his face snuffling her hair.

Belgium was sat next to America, and although not on his knee, they were holding hands under the table.

Poland was sat on Lithuania's knee and lastly, Italy not to be outdone was trying to get on Germany's knee but kept getting pushed off.

Germany did not feel that it was conducive to being a leader having a love-struck Italian sat on your knee. He took charge, seeing as everyone else was too busy 'being silly' (his words) to take anything seriously.

"I vill take charge. I am the only one not with their head in the clouds..." Germany began, pushing Italy off his lap.

Estonia stuck his hand up, "What about me...?" he asked. However, as he had lost France's sexiness and natural charisma and so nobody listened to him. He sighed, sat back down and got out his briefcase.

France sauntered in just as Germany began again, "Honhon, did you miss me, mes amies..." he stopped ultra dramatically at the sight of the number of Nations hugging and kissing each other, "Ah l'amour..." he all but sang and twirled around, "Zis is fantastique! You have all embraced passion... Ah zis is wonderful..."

"Shut up and sit down!" Germany yelled.

"Apart from you, Allemagne... eet iz sad..." France said, producing a rose from behind his ear and plonking himself down next to Denmark – who was thankfully now dressed and trying and unsuccessfully, to hug Estonia.

In fact the only Nation not present, who should have been (apart from Spain whose whereabouts will be explained shortly) was Prussia.

In fact, Prussia had been told to 'stay out of it and he would not in any way shape or form be helping them get this painting back' after Germany had heard him telling 'dude Den' that he was going to reveal his Nation status to the world's media.

So, Prussia had took himself upstairs with a cunning plan in mind. Prussia wasn't allowed to go to the auction house wasn't he? No? Well... we'll see about that...

* * *

><p>Toys R Us<p>

"I'm afraid that you cannot return this erm... product, Sir."

"And why not?"

"Because it doesn't appear to have a barcode..."

Spain sat on the counter with his guitar singing a sad Spanish lament about the tomato harvest failing or something or perhaps about some pretty Italian girl who would not go out with him. Whatever it was it had gained an audience.

"But all it does is sing in Spanish. I assumed it would at least have come with instructions..." the Austrian man complained. He ignored his wife and children who were all adamant that they wanted to keep the 'toy'. Particularly his wife, who he had caught dancing a very slow and sensuous tango with the 'toy'.

* * *

><p>Back at Austria's mansion<p>

The phone had rung and Lithuania had answered it, muttering that 'he was the only one who did anything around here'. It had been Hungary telling them that Austria was over the worst. She would be staying with him in hospital and to send some clothes across with someone sensible (this flummoxed Lithuania – there was really only him and Estonia who could be described as 'sensible'). Also Switzerland was still on the ward, his medication had worn off and he was having psychiatric tests done on him for delusional and possibly paranoid behaviour. Hungary seemed to find this entertaining.

Lily was staying at the hospital with her and from what Lithuania could determine, a proper mother-daughter reunion was taking place. This was probably the only good thing to have come out of this whole awful mess, Lithuania wisely thought.

* * *

><p>"We go to this auction house, I will inform my security services to clear the cameras and journalists and between us and our respective Governments' budgets we will buy this painting," Germany told them all.<p>

"Who the bloody hell put you in charge?" England said, as he gently lifted Belarus off his lap.

"Hell yeah, man!" America yelled, letting go of Belgium's hand. However, it was testament to just how serious he thought their relationship was as he handed her his light-sabre, "What about the giant robots, man?"

England shook his head, "No Alfred..."

America ignored England, Germany sat down in disgust. Having come up with the only sensible plan, he was being ignored.

"Right who's with me? Poland, dude? What're you going to do?"

"Well, dearie... I need to get some new eyeshadow and perhaps later I'll get my nails done..."

"You bloody started all this!" England remonstrated.

America did not think that new eyeshadow and false nails would get them the painting back but moved on around the table, "Dude Den... what are you going to do, what's your take on this? Are you with me, man?"

Den scratched his head, he was wearing a bizarre combination of spare jeans he'd borrowed from America and a spare tweed jacket from Arthur, together with a candy pink t-shirt borrowed from Poland that was too tight on him, "I was going to get some more beer," he said slowly.

America sighed and turned to the one person he knew he could count on to 'kick some shit up'. "Russia, my main man... what're you going to do?"

Russia contemplated this question in all seriousness and then chirruped rather menacingly, "I'm going to do fighting!"

"Hell yeah!"

* * *

><p>In a bathroom upstairs, Prussia contemplated the mess he had made. He knew Austria, when he finally returned home, would be extremely angry, but this was all for a better cause. He then contemplated his reflection in the mirror. The results weren't bad, not as good as they should have been... rather frightening actually, but they would pass muster. He knew his fellow Nations would not be fooled, but it might just get him past the security...<p>

* * *

><p>Vienna Auction House<p>

Germany's sensible plan appeared to be working. Together, the Austrian and German security services cleared the news media and television cameras – all of whom were made to stand outside the building, around which a cordon was erected.

Germany had also told the security services chiefs that Prussia was on no account to be let in, as it was feared he would attempt to reveal the painting to the world.

Poland was giving interviews to the assembled press as Lucinda Lovelace, telling them that a sequel to 'Love and Bullets' would be out soon. Lithuania stood nervously at his side.

The female Nations had been left back at the mansion with all intentions of going to visit Hungary and take her spare sets of clothes, some girly magazines and plenty of gossip.

Inside the auction house, Russia, America (still grumbling that he wasn't allowed to bring a tank), England, France (who had been forced there by England 'It's your bloody fault we're in this mess, so you can bloody well spend your expenses on something useful instead of women...' he'd told Francis), Germany, Italy and Den were sat on the front row of seats.

Estonia sidled in at the back, watching the proceedings with an interested eye. There should be plenty of millionaires here today, he thought.

Germany turned to his fellow Nations, "Leave the bidding to me... I have been assured by my Government that they will pay and then claim recompense from all of you..."

"I'm not on it... why does my Government have to pay for it? Arty, this could be the end of my MacDonalds account..." America all but wailed.

"Shut up, you idiot. If this painting gets out then we're all in trouble," England muttered.

"Why am I not on it?" Russia complained, "I was a world power..."

"No you weren't..." somebody said, but quietly.

Russia growled and looked around, "Well, I wasn't as big then as I am now..."

"Honhonhon..." France giggled.

There was a shush as the auctioneer took the stand. "Ladies and gentlemen and erm..." the man hesitated.

He spied Denmark waving a rubber axe in the air, Russia trying to reach across England and America to punch France; and Germany pretending he wasn't in any way shape or form with the imbeciles next to him – particularly the sleepy-eyed man leaning on his shoulder snoozing quietly.

"Yes, well... My name is Mortimer Goth and I am the auctioneer today. We present for you the lost masterpiece by Leonardo da Vinci... The Nations... painted in 1516 it has been authenticated by the best art experts in the world as a true da Vinci..."

A large easel was carried in, a cloth was removed and the painting was revealed.

Russia almost fell off his chair in surprise. Even Den looked up.

England tutted when he saw an almost exact replica of his face staring back at him – dead and lifeless and covered in blood.

America yelled, "Yeah, man!" and was shushed by England.

Germany shook his head in disapproval and glared at France.

"The bidding starts at..."

The next events happened actually quite slowly – but as England explained to Belarus later, it was evident what was going to happen, it was inevitable and reminded England of a Laurel and Hardy film... However, he never thought the day would be saved by none other than that 'hooligan' Prussia.

A very odd looking individual came out from behind the scenes. With strangely un-natural black hair, spectacles perched on his nose through which said person peered, and wearing a velvet waistcoat, velvet pants, a cravat with egg stains down it and just to complete the 'disguise', a mole drawn roughly on the wrong side of his cheek in black crayon.

Den frowned, lifted an arm pointed, dropped it again and then lifted it again, "Dude Austria's okay!" he said.

England looked up from shoving France's hand away from his pants, Russia had picked himself off the floor, America had stopped trying to get his pistol out of his pants to 'take out the security' so that he could be the hero, Germany shushed Den irritably, Italy slept on.

"That's not..." England began.

"Nein, it's not..." Germany agreed.

"Honhonhon... but he looks gorgeous, oh yes!" France exclaimed.

"Wait, guys, I'm going to..." America began to take his gun out.

"Wut?" Russia said, several beats behind everybody else.

Den leapt to his feet as he realised what was happening, "Cool, man! Awesome! You dressed as specs dude..." He flung himself across the room, slamming into the fake aristocrat, "Dude, you're hilarious... that's how you got past the security! It's just like Scooby Doo..." Den yelled, utterly delighted.

The combined force of a five foot ten, muscly Viking fuelled on several bottles of Carlsberg beer, hitting Prussia (for it was he) at a speed of several knots as said Viking attempted to hug him, forced Gilbert forward. He tried to stop himself, tried to shout out his practised speech for the world... but found he couldn't for once in his long awesome life say anything as he slammed forward and his head shot straight through the 400+ year old canvas which ripped from one end to the other.

The masterpiece of art was now in tatters a gaping hole stood in for where the great Nation of Le France should have been standing over the bodies of his enemies. Only Gilbert's face and the two Italies painted as cherubs pointing arrows at him.

"Fucking 'ell!" Gilbert moaned.

There was stunned silence.

"...50...erm..." Mortimer Goth paused in his bidding, completely stunned. No-one moved.

A solitary hand went up at the back of the room, "50 dollars!" came a confident voice.

The silence continued.

"Sold to the man in the glasses at the back of the room..." the Auctioneer announced.

**Author's Notes:**

**Jorvik – the old Viking name for York**

**If anyone can guess where I got the name 'Mortimer Goth' I will be very impressed and will send you a virtual internet cookie**

**Can anyone guess who bought the painting?**

**Next Chapter will be the last and then an epilogue.**


	37. Stars 'n' Stripes

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Simonana, Spearsem, IrishMaid, Blueladymare, PeppermintTwertle, Ever Blazin, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**Well done to all those who guessed it was Estonia who bought the painting. And I got the name Mortimer Goth from the PC game, The Sims (it amused me).**

Warnings: crack, angst, pure crack, bit more angst.

Chapter 36 – Stars 'n' Stripes

Vienna Auction House

The man dressed as Austria, aka Prussia was dragged out by security guards, yelling at the top of his voice, "But I'm the most awesomest Nation that ever lived! I'm the great Prussia... you can't throw me out!"

Actually, they didn't throw him out. They arrested him and threw him in a police van. Den, for good measure, was thrown in with him.

"Hey! What did I do?" Den yelled.

* * *

><p>"Well, that's that..." Arthur said, getting up and straightening his trousers, batting France's hand away automatically as he did so – like a reflex action.<p>

America was seriously disappointed, "I didn't get to kick ass!" he said, rather too loudly for England's taste.

Germany was actually quite pleased at the way things went – his Government hadn't had to buy the damned picture, nobody had got to see it – well only for a fleeting glimpse and his annoying younger? older? brother had been taken away. He nudged Italy awake, "Come on Italy, let's go buy you some ice cream," he said with a rare smile.

"Wut?" Russia asked, again. He'd missed something, he knew he had. Had there been a fight?

* * *

><p>Vienna Hospital<p>

"We brought Women's World, Women's Weekly, Cosmo and Practical Parenting," Latvia said, putting the magazines into Hungary's hands.

Hungary smiled. She looked tired, her eyes were red raw, there were dark circles under them, but she was happy that Austria had got through the night.

"Are you pregnant, Mum?" Lily asked.

Hungary nodded, and hugged Lily close.

"We all are," Belarus said, patting her stomach proudly.

Belgium nodded at Hungary's curious gaze, "Yes, I am as well..." she said ruefully, "No he doesn't know... yes, I'm going to tell him..."

Belarus and Latvia exchanged glances, this was something they had to see.

"Well, I'm not," Lily said with confidence. Then she stopped smiling and said quietly, "What's the date today?"

"The twenty-first, why?"

"Ooooh..." Lily looked around at her fellow Nations, "I think I might have to check something out..."

"You'll be a grandma then, Liz," Belarus laughed.

Hungary snarled at this.

"Or granny!" Latvia added.

"Have you told Austria he's going to be a father _and_ a grandfather?" Belarus asked.

Hungary shook her head, "He's barely been awake. He wasn't coherent. He kept muttering silly things about Grandpa Rome and Mother Russia or something," she answered.

Latvia and Belarus exchanged more looks. It was a toss-up which scene was going to be the most dramatic – Hungary telling Austria, or Belgium telling America.

However, Lily took herself off to visit her big 'bruder' and Hungary, thanking them profusely, got changed into the spare clothes they'd brought her. The fact that these spare clothes were Alfred's jeans and a Star Wars t-shirt were neither here nor there. Hungary just shrugged, she was used to wearing men's clothing and just tightened the belt and rolled up the legs.

"Can you all keep an eye on him for me whilst I get washed up?" she asked them.

"Us?" Latvia asked.

"Yes, you... well... please no knives, Natalya and Louise don't speak any French it might alarm him..." Hungary said and hurried off.

The three women entered the room quietly, tiptoeing in as if they were going to wake a sleeping baby.

Austria was still hooked up to a plethora of tubes and his eyes were still closed.

All three women looked at each other in a kind of panic. It was Latvia who gently took the Austrian's hand and held it, "I hope you'll be okay, Mr Austria. You were kind to me and I had a massive crush on you a long time ago," she said quietly. She only spoke because it seemed impolite not to. She was also close to tears, she could only imagine how Hungary must feel, if it had been Russia lying there she knew she would be in tatters on the floor.

Belarus stepped forward, "I'm sorry I threw that knife at you back in ..." she struggled to think. Was it 1942 or 1642? No matter, she gently patted his hand.

Belgium sighed, "I'm sorry, Mr Austria. I've sometimes caused you a lot of trouble... but your lot did rule my country in the sixteenth century. And I did wear revealing clothing sometimes just to fluster you at peace conferences... I did like you really...you were like an uncle to me..." she said softly. And then, probably because it had gone very quiet she carried on, "It was a nice respite from living with Antonio... honestly he's such a lazy person... but then you'd know that. You were married to him as well... I hope you're going to be okay, we all miss your..." here Belgium struggled and looked at Belarus and Latvia for help.

"...Music?" Latvia suggested quietly.

"...Shouting?" Belarus suggested.

"...Well Liz misses you... and you have to wake up soon or you'll miss out on the baby..." Belgium finished lamely.

Austria's eyes snapped open and all three women jumped back. "Baby?" he murmured croakily, "You mean Lily?"

"No, not Lily... erm..." Belgium struggled to think, she hadn't thought that he could actually hear them.

Hungary came bustling back in, "Right, thanks guys. I'm back now..." she stopped when she saw Austria was awake and ran to him, clasping his free hand in hers, "Roddie! Are you okay?"

"Liz? Baby? What?" he whispered.

"I meant to tell you that it's yours..." she said, "But then you got yourself shot..."

"Sorry..." Austria said weakly.

"Yeah, how inconvenient..." Belarus muttered and was pushed out by Latvia.

"The baby's yours," Hungary said again.

"Mine? Not...not Gilberts?"

Hungary almost jumped on the bed and strangled him, "That idiot? Do you know what he did on our last date? Do you?"

Latvia and Belgium decided that now was the best time to go.

However, they heard the Hungarian as they went down the corridor.

"We went to a football match, he got into a fight, which I had to save him from, I beat up four Germans, then he rang up dude Den and we went to a club and we got thrown out and I had to kick some bouncer's arse and to top it off he wouldn't pay for the kebab afterwards and then he mooned my Prime Minister ... so no this baby is not his... you big idiot..." Hungary's voice faded as they walked down the corridor.

Belgium was laughing, "Poor Liz... can you imagine going out with Gil?"

Latvia shuddered, "I'm amazed she didn't kill him..."

Belgium carried on, feeling rather giddy, "It's been on and off with Gilbert and then Roddie and back again for centuries. Oh yes," Belgium said conspiratorially, "Our Liz has been around."

"...Really?" Latvia smiled.

Belgium looked around to check no-one, namely Belarus, was around, "...Antonio... Pol..."

"Pol's gay!" Latvia said, in shock.

"Honey, don't you think all of them have slept with each other at some time?"

Latvia considered this and shook her head, "I haven't slept with other Nation!"

"Yep, she even 'did' Ivan!" Belgium said with a dirty laugh.

Latvia nodded, "I knew that..."

Belgium was disappointed that Latvia knew that bit of gossip, "Ah well..."

"As long as they don't do it again," Latvia said with determination.

"Ooooh, possessive eh?" Belgium's eyes gleamed as she followed the younger Nation out of the hospital to find Belarus.

* * *

><p>Lily found her 'brother' who was actually probably her uncle, possibly... in the psychiatric ward.<p>

He'd been taken into a group counselling session, which at first he'd been characteristically reticent about. However, as time had worn on, particularly after drinking tea and eating cheap biscuits, his natural argumentative nature came out. It was unfortunate that his fellow members were, in order, a hoplophobic (a phobia of guns), a person with severe anxiety, an Austrian dressed as Napoleon (perhaps every ward has them?) and a recovering alcoholic – who was drunk.

Therefore, when he'd been told to 'share' which he would never normally do and being told by the other members that he was in a safe place to share and they all understood his problems, he did just that. One thousand years of nervous exhaustion coupled with possessiveness and obsessive behaviour bordering on mania to keep his borders safe and secure came out. To top it off, he waved a gun that he'd had concealed on his person around and then started shouting about 'invading borders' and 'idiot Austrians'.

The hoplophobe ran out of the room wailing, the unfortunate person with severe anxiety had to be coaxed out of a corner, the Austrian ended up in a duel with the Swissman – with rolled-up copies of Gardeners Weekly, and the alcoholic started singing a rowdy drinking song whilst supping from a hip flask.

"Bruder!" Lily yelled in exasperation.

Switzerland hurriedly dropped his weapon, "Lily, I was just..." he tried to explain, fruitlessly.

She pulled him out. He was still limping from his still-broken leg, but other than that she was pleased to see he was fine.

"Vash... we should go home. I left Icy under my bed and..."

"What!" Vash's voice almost broke the windows in the near vicinity.

Lily sighed, she was going to have to stand up to him, she decided. "Yes, Icy. My husband. I don't care what you think... we're in love and that's that. I'm going to need him more than ever. And you. Because I think I'm pregnant."

"What?"

"And now Mr Austria... father is alright..."

"What?"

"Vash, you knew Austria was my father..."

"Yes I did, and I'm sorry that I kept you from him but he's just... so... just..." Vash looked as if he were going to go into another apoplexy of rage, so Lily tried to calm him as they went through the hospital.

"He got shot trying to save Mum," Lily said sadly.

"Shot?" Vash reacted in much the same way as Prussia did, "Save? Saving money? The cheapskate..." Vash continued as he was pushed, by Lily, into a taxi.

"No, by a bullet. He was a hero and jumped in front of the bullet to save Mum," Lily said and then gave directions to the airport to the taxi driver, "Shut up, Vash," she added to Vash's amazement.

"But... but..."

"Yes, I think I'm pregnant. Deal with it. You can be godfather. And no - Icy will not be leaving or going anywhere... you can babysit, but I will have no guns near the baby." Lily had finally found her authority, being the daughter of a badass female Nation had given her 'balls' as Prussia would no doubt have said.

* * *

><p>Vienna City Centre somewhere un-awesome<p>

Prussia had rather a lot to say, not all of the words were printable, even for an M rated story. He flung his glasses off, threw off the velvet jacket and started kicking the sides of the police van in utter frustration.

"S'up, dude?" Den asked him, completely oblivious.

"S'up? S'up? Are you kidding me? I got dressed up as that fuckin' aristocrat and looking like a complete turd all for nothing... If you hadn't ran into me, man, I could have revealed that I was the awesome Prussia and that us Nations existed and..." here Prussia paused in his yelling to kick the police van again, "... and I could be ruling the whole of Western Europe right now, covered in women and beer..."

"Doubt that, dude... you didn't rule it before did you? Anyway your big brother was going to buy that painting, man."

Prussia answered this by continuing to kick the inside of the van's walls.

"Black hair doesn't suit you..." Den said slowly.

Prussia ignored this and perked up as the van stopped, and the door opened. He glanced at Den, "Ready?" he asked the big Dane.

"What for?" Den asked slowly and stupidly.

"I'm gonna kick ass!" Prussia yelled and then added, "Will you help me?"

Den nodded and actually put down his bottle of beer – it was that serious.

Prussia leapt out with the force of a thousand Ninjas or something awesome like that and Den followed, slowly.

Gilbert's ninja skills were fairly awesome – although he couldn't do America's back-flips or Russia's neck-breaking face-palms, but he did punch two police officers out and kick another in the 'menswear department', Den followed and caused further destruction in a rather, Prussia thought, apathetic manner by slamming two policemen's heads together and then punching another through the windscreen of the van.

"Aw man, we could have stolen this van!" Gil yelled. Evidently, his penchant for stealing vans had not been dampened just because he was dressed as a 'nerdy, swotty, aristocrat'.

Den ignored him and just cut a swathe through a further half dozen policemen yelling "Copenhagen!" as he did so.

Prussia grabbed his friend as Den was about to take on the reinforcements who had arrived in vans. Denmark had suddenly gained full Viking mode, his eyes glowed and he gripped his (rubber) axe with an intensity that reminded Gilbert horrifically of Russia.

"Shit!" Prussia yelled as he pulled Den away, "Come on!"

Denmark, his usual big wide happy grin changed to a horrid grimace and forgetting that his axe was a kid's toy, flexed his muscles, brandished his axe and stepped forward to kick ass 'Viking' style...

Gilbert took 'charge', jumped over the prone bodies, leapt into a police van, did a bit of nifty hot-wiring (it's not just Estonia who can hot-wire an engine) and slammed the vehicle into gear. He only just avoided running over several Austrian policemen before pulling up short next to Den as said Viking was wrapping a rubber axe around somebody's neck, whilst punching another in the face.

"Get in!" Gilbert yelled and, before Den could be swarmed by several large Austrian policemen (in much the same way as Russia had been in the Tallin Police Station, the difference being that Russia was ... Russia and had Mr Pipe, but Den was Den and had a rubber axe), grabbed his friend and hauled him into the van.

Den yelled a strange bizarre mixture of Danish and Swedish or some Viking shit that Prussia didn't understand before Gilbert slammed his foot on the accelerator and they sped off.

"Kesese! No-one can keep the awesome me down!" Pru yelled to the world in general as they broke the speed limit through Vienna.

* * *

><p>Austria's Mansion<p>

"Flights are booked – back to Warsaw and then ongoing flights back to Leningrad," Estonia told Russia, Latvia, Pol and Lithuania.

"Can't we get flights straight home?" Lithuania asked.

Estonia shook his head, "We," here he nodded at Russia, "need to get Mr Sweden's car... or what is left of it back to its owner..."

Russia looked up from cuddling Latvia, "Wut? Me?" he asked, confused.

Estonia nodded, "Yes, you," he said as he carefully packed his purchase into a crate. He didn't care that the art experts had deemed it 'worthless' and 'irreparable', he had bought a Da Vinci and he could wait until technology could catch up...

* * *

><p>Somewhere... in Tahiti... a second-rate art dealer by the name of Cedric Cameron who had been watching the news in disbelief... cried. "50 million... 50 million..." he wailed as he was taken away by men in white coats.<p>

* * *

><p>"Meh..." Poland said with startling insight, still completely oblivious to the trouble and chaos that he'd caused, "I suppose I should go home..." he said.<p>

"Yes, and you can stop giving interviews pretending to be me," Latvia told him.

"Sweetie..." Poland remonstrated.

"Never mind all that ... you are all invited to our wedding in England," Belarus announced dramatically.

Arthur covered his eyes. Dear Lord, he'd hoped that they could do it quietly, without these imbeciles.

"Honhonhon, I will be best man, oh yes!" Francis perked up.

"No you bloody well will not!"

"Me! I'll be Arty's best man... leave it to me, dude. We'll have the best stag night ever!" Alfred yelled.

Arthur shuddered.

"Raivis, sestra, Liz and Louise can be bridesmaids..." Belarus said confidently and then added with a gleam in her eyes, "... in blood-red dresses."

Latvia inched closer to Russia nervously and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"And big brother will give me away..." Belarus continued.

"...He'll have to. He'll get nothing for her..." Alfred muttered, for once quietly.

Before another fight could break out, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it..." Toris sighed.

The builder's foreman was stood there looking sheepish, "We managed to extract the lorry from the swimming pool and re-filled the swimming pool. We also found this..." here the foreman held up a red and white flag with a black eagle in the centre.

"Tablecloth?" Alfred asked Arthur.

"Austria's flag!" Latvia said and then added, "It's like mine...before..." and then she stopped. She was about to say 'before her country became a Soviet Republic' but stopped herself in time. What on earth was she going to do when her country became independent again?

Russia wrapped an arm around her waist and gently patted her stomach.

"It shouldn't be dragged along the ground, man!" Alfred yelled. He snatched the flag from the builder, "Let's get this baby up!" Alfred said confidently.

"Honhonhon!"

"Dear Lord!"

"Ooooh Alfred, I love it when you're all commanding..." Belgium said, stroking his bicep.

The assembled Nations stood in the driveway and watched as Alfred and Arthur between them, arguing the whole time, hoisted the Austrian flag up the flagpole on the mansion's roof.

Alfred stepped back, almost fell off the roof, recovered his balance with Arthur's help, and saluted.

The Nations in the driveway all saluted – in their own inimitable fashion and then got into various taxis to take them home.

* * *

><p>Vienna City Centre - somewhere awesome<p>

Gil and Den were speeding through the city with no less than four police vans on their tail.

"Kesese!" Gil yelled in utter joy.

He sped through the city, weaving in and out of traffic as sirens blared behind them.

Gil expertly slammed down a side street and then joined a road running alongside the river Danube.

"Dude Den?"

"Ja?" Den answered.

"Shall we do this?"

Den frowned.

"Our most awesomest exit ever in the history of awesome-ness?" Gil continued as they slammed down the carriageway, the river flowing alongside.

Den frowned again and then nodded. The large Dane unbuckled his belt, leaned across and clasped Gil's spare hand.

Gil eased off the accelerator as the four police vans pulled up behind them. "Been good playing with you, Den!" Gil yelled.

Den nodded, squeezed his friend's hand and yelled ear-splittingly, "Hell yeah, man! Danmark!" as Gil spun the steering wheel around and headed for the river.

The police helicopter hovering overhead caught on full camera, the stolen police van entering the murky depths of the Danube (certainly not the blue Danube), bobbing around a little and then sinking very un-awesomely. It did not pick up the two 'awesome dudes' who jumped out just before the van hit the water.

**Author's Notes:**

**In America, the Stars and Stripes – the American flag is never supposed to touch the ground by tradition. I just added this little bit in with Austria's flag because I don't know – a bit of poignancy?**

**The bit where Gil and Den (or Gilden/Dengil) end up in the river is a take-off of the end of Thelma and Louise – a film I've referenced before.**

**Sorry I took a while uploading this. And I know this was supposed to be the last chapter, but it ended up soooo long I've chopped it into two. Chapter 37 (phew) coming soon.**


	38. Eagle

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: CactusNoir, Simonana, Spearsem, IrishMaid, Blueladymare, PeppermintTwertle, Ever Blazin, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: crack, angst, pure crack, bit more angst.**

Chapter 37: Eagle

Vienna Airport

Various Nations were either boarding planes, going through security, or going through the gift shops or in the case of America and Belgium having a steamy goodbye in the hotel bar.

Toris, Ed (carrying a very large package) and Raivis/Aija had managed to steer Russia through security without incident. Actually, since he'd found out he was going to be a father, or possibly since the previous evenings 'activities' with Latvia, he'd had a pink glow emanating from him and he'd not lost his temper once.

Poland followed them through, grumbling. The reason why he was grumbling was that Raivis had told him that she wanted all the money that he'd spent on expenses/hotel/clothes/make-up back and if she didn't get it back then Russia would confiscate his pink Ferrari.

Belarus was in a much better mood than the Pole. She was in the jewellery shop picking out rings. Arthur followed her around as she ooohed and aaahed. The jeweller was beside himself, pulling out the most expensive diamond engagement rings in stock.

Of course, Natalya already had a wedding ring – two in fact, one to fit herself and one for her dear brother. However, she ascertained that Ivan's ring would be far too big for Arthur's much smaller more delicate digits and so they were perusing the rings.

Arthur sighed and took out his wallet – which contained a measly 5 pounds and 25 pence. However, Natalya peered in and relieved him of his credit card.

Arthur decided it was wise to just agree to anything. He loved her, he really did and was thrilled actually at the idea of becoming a father again. He'd decided that he would introduce this new Nation/region/city or whatever to the finest English cuisine as soon as possible. Also cricket, football, English pop music, Yorkshire puddings, Doctor Who... England smiled, he wouldn't make the same mistakes he'd made with America and Hong Kong, not that the former was his child. He went into a little reverie as he thought of the good old fashioned English country wedding they could have. In a little village church, with a proper English vicar, a carriage and horses for Natalya, perhaps he could arrive on horseback...

"Arthur darling!" Natalya's syrupy sweet voice cut through his daydreams (the same syrupy sweet voice that haunted Russia's nightmares) and Arthur loped back to her side and paid probably way too much for an engagement ring and two matching his and hers wedding rings.

* * *

><p>"And I'll take you Disneyland! I won't puke this time... Man! That was hilarious..." Alfred was saying to Louise.<p>

Belgium sighed and sipped her non-alcoholic beverage. Perhaps he was too immature for her, too young, too irresponsible. She listened as he told her about SeaWorld and the latest attractions in Florida.

"Alfred, that's all very nice but have you thought about settling down?" she asked carefully.

"Settling down for what? I went to the cinema with Arty and watched a film about an alien called Allen or something..."

"...Alien..." Belgium said with a sigh.

"...And I only screamed three times. Arty fell asleep. Tony laughed all the way through."

"I don't mean settling down as in settling down to watch a movie..."

America continued to chatter, his mouth lubricated by another bottle of beer, "The dude chick in it was really hot, she kicked ass..."

Belgium sighed again. They'd been sat in the airport bar waiting for her flight, Alfred's was an hour later than hers and in that time she'd tried and failed several times to tell him she was pregnant.

They were sat side by side on a comfy sofa, him on his third beer, she on her third lemonade and so far she'd got nowhere and was starting to think this was all a big mistake. All he'd talked about were his 'dudes', the holidays with his 'dudes', playing pranks with his 'dudes' on Arty and the epic awesomest stag night he was arranging – solely in his head – for Arty.

"But I bet I could have kicked ass like her..." Alfred continued, oblivious, "Arty said I could with my lightsabre. It was hilarious when that crabby thing burst out of that man's chest, I thought Arty was going to have a fit... I didn't scream, well I did a bit. Tony nodded, I don't know why... I bet even fat commie dude would have screamed. Even heroes scream sometimes."

Belgium gave up, leaned across and shut him up by kissing him firmly on the mouth.

Alfred wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap. Never one for doing things by halves, he kissed her back and ran his fingers through her hair, while she ran her fingers up and down his biceps.

"Hmmm, Alfie..." she murmured.

"I know right? Last night was good though wasn't it?" he whispered.

She nodded. After he'd been to MacDonalds, fuelled himself up on four happy meals and found the remainder of the Star Wars collection, he'd been like an over-excited puppy and had cuddled her all night just like a large puppy she'd rescued from the pound.

"But Alfie, what about if..." here she traced her fingers through his Indiana Jones t-shirt and felt his six-pack, "...we kind of made it a regular thing?" she said quietly.

"Woohoo, dude that would be awesome!" Alfred punched the air, "You mean I could stay at your place and have sleepovers? I could bring Tony ... can I bring Mr Pillow and my Atari?"

Belgium sighed, "I was thinking more of an adult relationship..."

"Oh riiiiight... I know, Arty was warning me about this and that I shouldn't wear my Spiderman pyjamas to bed..."

Belgium shook her head, but smiled. He really was just too cute, "Alfie, what I meant was that we could be a proper couple..."

"What and go on dates?" America's eyes lit up, "Hell yeah... I know I threw up at Disneyland and you didn't like the chilidogs but next time it will be better..."

"I mean a couple like... erm..." Belgium struggled to think, "Arthur and Natalya or Ivan and Raivis..."

America pulled a face, he didn't think either of those couples were 'cool' and said as much. "Arty and crazy Natty are like an old married couple already, she keeps nagging at him and he's likes it! I bet they have matching Horlicks mugs and matching slippers. And fat commie dude and little Latvina are weird man... she looks like she's scared of him and then she keeps hitting him and he has this soppy look on his face!"

Belgium couldn't help but smile at Alfred's remarkable insight into the other two couples' dynamics. She thought Arthur and Natalya were well-matched – Arthur needed someone to nurture and Natalya needed to be nurtured. Both wore a hard exterior shell but inside they were both softies she thought, well... maybe not Natalya...

She didn't know Latvia or Russia that well, but thought they looked cute together. Who'd have thought that the smallest, trembling Baltic would end up with the biggest, meanest badass Nation and totally own him, punch him and generally order him around? And even funnier was that Russia seemed to love it and loped around after the small Baltic like a love-sick puppy, albeit one with claws and teeth.

"So you don't think that me and you...?" she started to say and then heard the announcement for the boarding of her flight. "... I have to go..." she said.

"Aw, man..."

Belgium got to her feet and held out her hand. Perhaps it was for the best, she thought. He was clearly too young for commitment of any kind.

Alfred took her hand and shook it, completely confused.

"That's my flight, Alfie, I have to go..." she said and picked up her handbag, rummaged through for her passport and tickets, "I'll see you around, perhaps..."

"I could come over to erm..." America struggled to think of the capital of Belgium, his handsome face scrunched up in concentration, "...Brasilia!"

"That's Brazil..."

America frowned and ran a hand through his messy blond hair, "...Erm...Br...Brest!"

Belgium shook her head, "That's in France... and it's not even a..."

"Ha! Only Francis would have a city called Brest!" America all but yelled.

Belgium carried on walking, "Brussels! My capital is called Brussels!" she yelled at him over her shoulder.

America loped after her, "So I can come visit with my buds and have a sleepover?"

Belgium stopped and turned to look him in the eye, "Alfie, you're sweet, you really are. I would love to keep you as my toyboy, but I don't think it's going to work..." she said sadly, stood on tiptoe, kissed him on the cheek and then walked off towards the barrier.

America stood alone, watching Belgium walk away and feeling very un-heroic and sad.

Just as he was contemplating running after her like the heroes in all those movies which made Arthur splutter into his popcorn, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He expected it to be security like last time, telling him to move on.

The hand belonged to someone more formidable than Austrian Airport Security, Belarus prodded him and said, "So, Amerika why aren't you going with her? You do not care? You men are all alike... apart from my Arthur of course. And big brother. Just leave a girl just when she needs you..."

America frowned again, "What?" he said.

England nodded in agreement with Belarus. That was another thing that America disliked about their relationship, Arty was always agreeing with the Belorussian. Then again with her knife-throwing skills, Alfred was sure he'd also be quick to agree with her.

"Yes, Alfred, I thought you'd be pleased and supportive. I brought you up better than that..." England began to say.

"Eh?"

"Aren't you pleased about the baby?" Belarus asked. She'd seen them getting all cosy in the airport bar, Belgium had told her and Latvia that she was going to tell America and...

"Baby?" America looked from one to the other.

England and Belarus exchanged glances, "Shit," England said, with feeling.

"Baby?" America said again. "What baby?"

He looked from one to the other, "I think it's nice that I'm going to have a little brother or sister..."

"I am not your bloody father!" England shouted.

Belarus shook her head, "Not _our_ baby, you moron, _your_ baby..."

"The States are all grown up now..." America started to say and then, "...Oh..." as he watched Belgium go through the security at the other end of the airport, a lightbulb appearing above his head.

"Gotta go..." he all but yelled at Arthur.

Arthur pulled Natalya into a hug and decided to stand back and watch.

America ran along the airport hall yelling, "Lou!" He skidded to a dramatic stop as he came to the security barriers, leapt over them in true James Bond/Indiana Jones/Han Solo style, shoved aside several security officers and slid to a stop on his knees in front of a startled woman.

"Lou, will you...?"

The large Austrian housefrau glared at him.

"You're not Lou!" America said, utterly appalled.

Belgium couldn't help but laugh when she saw the American on his knees in front of the bewildered Austrian couple.

"I'm here!" Lou shouted and then sighed.

America found himself being manhandled by two burly security guards.

"You can't go through there, that's for departures only," one of them told him.

"I know... but I..." America thought about having an awesome fight and punching them out, after all that's what Russia would do wasn't it? Instead he dredged up all the romantic and 'soppy' movie endings that he'd ever seen and said, "Lou, I love you! No barrier can ever keep us apart..."

The security guard and a few other people who had congregated to watch disagreed with this statement.

Belgium sighed again, "I know but Alfie... you and me... it would never work out..."

"Why not?"

The assembled crowd all 'aahed' and then looked to Belgium for her answer.

"I think you're too young for me..." she said and then realised how lame that sounded.

The crowd all looked back at America for his answer to this (rather like a crowd watching a tennis match).

"But you're only a couple of hundred years older than me..."

The crowd all frowned.

"... I mean er... a couple of years older than me..." America amended quickly realising his mistake. "It'll be great. I'm going to be a dad! You can't do this on your own!"

Belgium disagreed with this, being a strong independent female Nation, she'd certainly done more perilous things in her long life than bring up a child on her own.

However the crowd all looked back at her, clearly moved by the young, handsome American's pleas.

"Awwww!" the crowd all murmured as one.

Alfred, borne up by such support, not that he needed that much anyway, leapt to his feet, jumped over the remaining barrier, clasped Belgium in his arms, bent her over and kissed her passionately.

"Oooh Alfie!" Belgium all but swooned.

As did the crowd.

Several women battered their respective husbands around the head, saying "Why can't you be that romantic?"

* * *

><p>Vienna city centre<p>

Two awesome dudes high-fived each other as they watched the police van sink beneath the Danube.

"We did it, man!"

"Woohoo!"

"What a ride!"

Pru and Den danced a jig around and around until slowly one of them stopped as they realised that they should have done a runner when they could. Prussia batted his friend on the shoulder, "Man... we... oh..." he muttered.

The two awesome dudes were completely surrounded by severely pissed off Austrian police officers pointing firearms at them.

It was going to take something fantastically awesome to get them out of this hole, Prussia thought.

Which is precisely what happened.

There was a screeching sound and a flapping, and then all hell broke loose. The policemen scattered as the air seemed to be full of feathers and talons.

Prussia and Denmark both looked up to see, to their utter astonishment, a large Golden Eagle battering down on their foes.

"Dude!"

"Gilbird dude!" Prussia yelled.

"Gilbird? I thought he was a little yellow chick, man?" Den asked as they began running.

"He was a little yellow chickman... but now he's grown up and he's a big fuck-off eagle dude..."

"Woohoo!" Den yelled as they skidded down the street and then hid in a doorway. They were soon joined by the 'big fuck-off eagle dude' who perched on Gil's shoulder and squawked lovingly in his ear.

"Man, he's a lot heavier..." Pru said as his shoulder sagged under the bird's weight. "Hey Gilbird dude, danke for saving us... you're my main man. Why did you grow up?"

He listened intently as the bird of prey squawked.

"Hmmm, I see... I was supposed to be Germany and now I'm not... you were waiting for me?"

Den shook his head, "You're like Dr Doolittle dude!" he said, completely impressed.

"Aw man..." Prussia gently stroked Gilbird's head and then said quietly, "You go, dude, we'll catch up with you later... see if you can find bruder..."

The eagle took off into the air with a screech and soared high above the city.

"Go on... go free my friend..." Prussia yelled.

"Come on, dude..." Den said, patting his friend on the head.

* * *

><p>Somewhere else in the city<p>

"So we can be together forever and ever, Luddy-kins?"

"Ja, but stop calling me Luddy-kins..."

"Ve, oh Luddy..."

"Sigh..."

The two Nations held hands as they sat on the park bench, eating their respective ice-creams (as 'Luddy' had promised). The smaller Nation smiled happily, the larger one almost smiled, all was well with the world. Until a large winged shadow fell from the sky.

"Nein!"

"Non!"

The two Nations (one more annoyed than the other, the smaller one merely scared – jumping into the taller one's arms) leapt to their feet as the large eagle swooped down, snatched their ice-creams in its out-stretched talons and soared away, squawking loudly.

"That bloody chick... eagle...!" The tall blond Nation yelled in German at the diminishing silhouette before turning back to his snivelling companion. "Come on, Italy... I'll buy you another one..."

"Ve... Oooh Luddy..."

"Stop calling me that!"

* * *

><p>Berne, Switzerland<p>

Vash was not one for 'adjusting' or 'accommodating' others' wishes. However, he found, for the first time in many centuries he had to do just that. He loved Lily like a sister or the daughter he'd never had and in his head his protectiveness was justified due to the number of wars on his borders and the sheer number of idiotic Nations that surrounded him – included Austria in this calculation. However, he realised that if he was going to keep Lily with him then he was going to have to adjust to a new way of living.

"Icy will be staying with us for the foreseeable future, Vash," Lily told him as they entered the house (she still called Iceland 'Icy' – it was cuter than his human name of Emil).

Vash said nothing. He'd decided on the flight back that Iceland was alright – far better than some of the horrors his darling Lily could have chosen and besides he didn't want her to go all gothic and kiss Russia again. He knew he would never get over that for another 1000 years.

Also on the flight over, Lily had taken herself off to the aeroplane toilet, removed her 'piercings', make-up, switched her high-heeled boots for sneakers and combed her hair back into a normal style with ribbons. However, she threatened her big brother/uncle that it would all return should he make any disparaging remarks about her husband.

"Icy! Sweetheart!" Lily called up the stairs.

A silver-haired young man ventured slowly out of her room upstairs and peered down.

"It's okay, Uncle er big bruder Vash won't hurt you..."

Vash shook his head, but his hand itched on his rifle.

Icy, who was not without quite a bit of courage, after all he had Viking blood coursing through his veins, had holidayed with Denmark and Norway – which required nerves of steel, but he inched down the stairs, one at a time.

"I think I'm pregnant..." Lily told him and flung her arms around his neck.

"Oooh," Icy hugged her back, and eyed Vash carefully.

"Ja... it is very nice... I suppose..." Vash said noncommittally. He was, in all honestly, quietly pleased and looked forward to the pitter-patter of tiny feet.

Within half an hour, Vash was out in the gardens of the mansion showing Iceland how to handle a rifle. The young Icelandic knew already how to shoot, but allowed the Swissman to 'teach' him.

"You will have to learn to protect young Lily and her... your... family, Iceland. You never know if that pervert France will turn up waving his pants in the air or whether Italy will streak across this lawn again. If you are going to be a father to my little Lily's baby I expect you to be able to look after her."

Icy, used to dealing with nutty Nations who liked bossing people around, just shrugged, kept his explosive temper in check, smiled and went along with it.

* * *

><p>London<p>

Arthur and Natalya smiled at each other as the taxi pulled up at 69 Trafalgar Gardens. "Home!" they both sighed in unison and linked hands.

However, it was not the homecoming they expected.

"What are yer dooin' 'ere?" Hamish said as Arthur unlocked the front door and carried Natalya over the threshold.

"Oh, Hamish. I forgot you were here..." Arthur said as he placed Belarus down gently.

"Aye, I bet yer did. Ah've bin dooin' yer job fer yer whilst yer've been dilly-dallying aroond Europe with yon lassie," Hamish answered, waving a large glass of Scotch at them, his sporran waving menacingly.

Belarus had no idea what the Scotsman was saying, so she ignored him, picked up Daisy in her arms (at least the dog had been looked after she noted) and marched past him into the kitchen to switch the kettle on 'for a brew'. She was turning more and more English as time went on and found that if she didn't have a 'cuppa' every hour or so her nerves were in shreds.

"Right, well Natty and I are back now so you can go home," Arthur told him.

"Well I like that! Ach, man ah've been standing in fer yer wit yer bossman and her Maj..."

"You've met Her Majesty? Why? What's happened?" Arthur was surprised, to say the least. He met the Queen only a few times a year. Unless something very urgent happened, there was no other need. They exchanged presents at Christmas and he often attended the Trooping the Colour, the Cenotaph on Remembrance Day and would sometimes lurk at the back when the Royal Family were on the balcony at Buckingham Palace – he liked to keep an eye on the younger members – the upcoming generation.

"Nothin's 'appened, yer big eejit. I went along and had tea with her. She didna have any shortbread so I made her some... aye she's a grand lass. I only get to see her at Balmoral."

"What did you say to her?" Arthur asked, suddenly suspicious.

"I told her, 'Yer know, yer Maj, yer need to get a guid Scottish cook to make yer shortbread'"

"No... about me, you fool?"

"I told her that you'd gone doolally, man. Away with the fairies and such..."

"Nooooo," Arthur pulled at his hair, "Why?"

"Cos man, yer were. Yer took off with yon lassie and wee Alfie and Francy-pants and when I last saw yer, yer were talking Shakespeare rubbish..."

"Who authorised you to be in charge?"

"Mrs Thatcher! She scared me though and told me to stop drinkin', aye an' she said I wasnae to tell anyone I was Britain for a bit or invite anyone here... Her Maj was more welcoming..."

Belarus came back out and gently took Arthur's hand, "We were worried about you, so we asked your boss if you could have some time out," she said.

"Well, I'm alright now aren't I? So, thank you, Hamish and goodbye..." Arthur opened the door ready to shove the Scotsman out.

However, a sound he dreaded was heard coming down the stairs – of the yap yap of a small, annoying dog and the slap of rubber on Arthur's parquet floor.

"Nooo, please tell me you didn't?" he asked Hamish.

"Aye he bloody did, chuck," came a voice.

Arthur groaned audibly, Belarus took a step back.

The man now stood in front of them was a sight to behold. He was shorter than Arthur but built like a barrel. He wore a scruffy tweed jacket, scruffy trousers (with a cord around the waist in lieu of a belt), muddy wellington boots, a flat cap on his sandy hair, in his large hands he held a very annoyed looking Yorkshire Terrier that growled at Belarus and, alarmingly, a ferret peeking out of his trouser pocket.

"Bob..." Arthur said lamely.

"Who?" Belarus asked, impatiently. She tried to ignore the small dog's growling and, much as she liked dogs, was tempted to drop-kick it.

"Yorkshire... my son..." England said.

"Aye. I am that... Uncle 'Amish invited me over ter keep 'im company, like." The Yorkshireman's flat vowels made Arthur wince.

Belarus understood him slightly better than Hamish, but not by much.

"I taught you to speak properly," Arthur remonstrated. "Anyway, you can both leave now," he said commandingly, "I'm back in charge. I'll go and see Mrs Thatcher and inform her. You can go back to Glasgow or whatever other infernal place you've come from, Hamish."

"I've come all the way from Biggleswade-on-the-Water, Pa," Yorkshire said.

"Of course you have."

"Are tha not pleased ter see me then? And what's this?" Bob pointed at Belarus, "Are you my new stepma?"

"Yes and you're going to have a little brother or sister," Arthur told him.

"By eck!" Bob said, obviously much surprised.

"Right, bye then," Arthur said, opening the door for them, "I'll see you both at the wedding..." (he shook his head at Belarus at this).

"Aye, well... I do have my sheep to see to..." Bob muttered, "Come on, Uncle 'Amish, we know when we're not wanted."

The Scotsman and Yorkshireman walked down the driveway, both grumbling about 'mean relatives', deliberately banging the gate as they went.

"Bloody relatives... I bet they've emptied the fridge and drunk all my beer," Arthur said.

And they had.

* * *

><p>Warsaw<p>

"My beautiful car..." Poland was lamenting at his pink Ferrari with the busted tyres.

Russia shrugged and sauntered into the house to steal some vodka before they had to make their connecting flight to Leningrad.

"It's no longer your car. It's now mine," Latvia told the Pole.

"But why?" Pol asked, and looked as if he were going to cry.

"You bought it with _my _money!"

"Well... technically it was yours, but earned by me..." Pol said lamely.

Lithuania shook his head and followed Russia into the house.

"Hand over the keys or I tell Vanya," Latvia said, her hand outstretched and added just to rub it in, "Me and Vanya can drive it back to Leningrad."

The wail and moaning could be heard from inside the house – evidently the thought of 'Braginski' who was clearly uncool and unfashionable driving something as groovy and 'on trend' as his pink Ferrari was too much for the Pole.

Toris was just switching on the kettle, whilst Russia raided Poland's fridge when they were disturbed by a ruffled-looking small Italian.

"Ah... mmm... ciao signores!" Romano said and then fled, pulling an equally ruffled Russian KGB officer after him.

"Wut?" Russia asked, puzzled. His flaky memory nudged at him. Wasn't he angry at Romano for something? But then he smiled, the possible anger instantly forgotten as Latvia came in.

"Never mind, Sir," Lithuania said.

"We're driving back to Leningrad," Latvia told Russia as she fluffed his hair.

Russia nodded. If she'd told him that he was to crawl on his hands and knees all the way back, he'd have nodded.

Estonia interrupted the little 'love-fest' as Poland called it, "Er, Sir? We have to get Sweden's Volvo back to him," he told his boss.

Russia frowned and the nodded, "Okay," he said.

"But I would suggest we take it to a garage and get it sorted first," Estonia said.

"Why? A quick run through a car wash and it will be okay," Russia said, much puzzled.

Estonia did not think that 'a quick run through a car wash' would solve the problem of the broken windscreen, the bullet holes, the lack of engine... and said so, "I think, Sir, we need to get that car sorted before we deliver it to Mr Sweden..." he said slowly and quietly. He knew, having been under Sweden's rule that the Swede, intimidating anyway in his silence could be almost as frightening as Russia when in full Viking mode. He couldn't imagine the results of a Russia/Sweden clash.

No-one noticed as Romano and Miss Bollockoff escaped out of the back door for freedom. Romano promising his ex-captor that he would show her the Colosseum.

* * *

><p>Above the skies of Belgium (not Brazilia or Brest or any other city beginning with Br) America and Belgium sat side by side in their aeroplane seats (obviously - as neither could fly, even though America wished he could just like every other awesome hero) and talked about the coming change in their lives.<p>

"It'll be awesome, man! I loved being a dad. I was even a dad to some kids who weren't mine!" (This was indeed true of many of his States and of Alaska who he'd brought up as his own.) "We'll get them one of those beds that looks like a car and a life-time ticket for Disneyland!"

Belgium couldn't help but smile. All her anxieties about America being a less than attentive father were washed away. Obviously he was still immature and silly, but you couldn't have everything, she could be mature and sensible for both of them.

**Author's Note:**

**Horlicks is an instant malted milk drink popular in Britain – usually drunk at bed-time.**

**Dr Doolittle – a character that can talk to the animals**

**Iceland's human name – I read a few fanfics where it's Emil so that was good enough for me.**

**Mrs Thatcher – Margaret Thatcher – the prime minster of Great Britain during the 1980s (shudders)**

**And being from Yorkshire I couldn't resist shoving 'Bob' aka Yorkshire into this story. I think someone else did a fanfic of all the counties of England and their relationship with England...**

**Next chapter (yes I know this was supposed to be the last chapter, but unless I publish a massive 8000 words...), a road trip for Russia and Latvia with fluff, Sweden's Volvo, Pru-Den and the start of their awesome world tour and Ukr-Est... oh and somebody gets an uncool job...**


	39. Wolf

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: CactusNoir, LeedsLass, Simonana, Spearsem, IrishMaid, Blueladymare, PeppermintTwertle, Ever Blazin, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

Warnings: None, well alrighty then - some scenes of a fluffy nature, Den, Pru, silliness.

Chapter 38 – Wolf

Just outside Riga, Latvia

The candy-pink Ferrari looked odd parked up at the side of the forest track. It's colour clashing with the whiteness of the snow and the darkness of the pine forest surrounding them.

Russia had been apprehensive about driving a pink sports car all the way back to Leningrad. However, he actually quite liked the colour and it handled like a dream. He was in no way as good a driver as Pol and once he realised that you couldn't drive the rear-wheel drive car at 80 miles an hour down a snowy carriageway without some skid or Latvia screaming in his ear, he'd taken the journey at a more leisurely 40 miles an hour. Poland would have been horrified to see the big Russian taking the sleek sports car – which had a maximum speed of 240 mph – cruising through the towns at a mere 20 miles an hour, mindful of the precious cargo next to him.

Estonia would have been amazed at Russia's careful driving and the fact that he hadn't crashed once, nor been in a car chase, nor done any hand-brake turns. Latvia, for her part, felt very safe and warm and had barely thrown up.

They'd stopped overnight just over the Polish-Lithuanian border in a small hotel and had ordered room service – barely leaving their room, a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door handle.

Now, however, Latvia had asked Russia to take a detour from the main road and they had travelled through miles of forest track, the small sports car occasionally sliding on the snow, until Latvia asked Russia to pull over and stop.

She got out and took a deep breath, pulling her coat around her. Russia followed, and gently took her hand in his. He had no idea why they'd stopped there, it was in the middle of nowhere, pine forest stretched out for miles around.

* * *

><p>Warsaw, Poland<p>

With the aid of Germany's wallet (which had been swiped by Gilbird), Gil and Den had taken a flight to Warsaw to pick up Gil's most awesome van (or the 'Mystery machine' as Den called it). However when they arrived they found the awesomest van in the universe precisely where Gil had abandoned it – at Terminal One of Warsaw Chopin Airport covered in parking tickets and four wheel clamps.

"Aw man!" Gil kicked each of the wheel clamps in turn and then plonked himself down and lit a cigarette.

"It says here..." Den read the notice slowly, "That you need 1000 zloty to get the vehicle released."

"What the fuck?"

"I know... I don't know how much that is in real money," Den said and rubbed his blond head.

They ambled back out onto the main road and Gilbert stuck his thumb out.

"What're you doing, man?"

"Thumbing a lift back to Vienna, man."

"Why, man?"

"Got no money, man."

"So what yer gonna do, dude Gil?"

"We could get back to specs' house and borrow some of his savings and then get back and rescue my van and then go on our awesome adventure around Europe drinking beer and visiting brothels! Kesese!"

"Good idea, Gil... or we could cadge a lift with those guys..." Den said slowly and pointed at the coach that had pulled up several hundred metres away from them and had been there for some time.

On the side was the logo 'Hawaiian Tropic'.

"Aw man, I ain't going to Hawaii. I get sunburn!" Prussia wailed.

Den shook his head, "I know right? But I thought it looked cool," Den said as the door of the coach opened and a bikini-clad, sun-kissed girl hung out and yelled at them.

"Hey!"

"Us?" the two Nations looked at each other dumbly.

"Yeah, you two dumbasses!" the girl yelled in a mixture of Italian and Spanish.

"She can't mean us..." Prussia said sadly.

"Do you two dumb morons want to come with us? We need two men to rub suntan lotion into twenty hot, half-naked bodies every day."

"Well... is there beer?" Den asked slowly.

Prussia was too dumb-struck to move, surely this couldn't be happening?

"No, sorry, no alcohol..." the girl answered, a smirk on her face. Who were these goons?

Den hesitated, "Aw man... and I thought our luck was in!"

Prussia almost fell over himself to get to the coach, he pulled Den along with him. "Wait!" he yelled as the coach door started to close.

The girl hung her head back out, "Que?" she asked.

"You'll have to excuse my friend..." Gilbert grinned, indicating the gormless Dane, "He's a little slow. Of course we can come along with you on your tour and we won't even want payment."

The girl just raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"...But I'm gonna need to make a detour past my brother's place, oh and Vienna and Leningrad and Helsinki..." Prussia kesesed as he thought of the looks on his fellow Nations' faces when he and Den turned up with a host of bikinied girls.

"Well... that could be arranged..." the girl said and stepped back to allow them on.

"Aw man... no beer?" Den remonstrated as they hurried up the steps of the coach.

"Yeah, but dude... all those women... girls in bikinis and just me, you and..." Prussia leapt up the steps of the coach two and turned to look down the coach to see... forty male models are looking back at him.

The girl slapped her hand on his back, "Thanks! We needed some help for the Pink Hawaiian Tropic Tour for the next issue of Playgirl," she said.

"Dude... they're dudes..." Den whispered in Pru's ear as the coach set off.

Prussia considered this, "Erm..."

Den considered their new turn of fortune, shrugged and made his way down the aisle of the coach, grinning. "Woohoo!" he yelled, "Let's go buff some ass!"

Prussia shuddered.

* * *

><p>Leningrad<p>

"I'm not sexy anymore!" Estonia said, his head muffled against Ukraine's ample chest.

"You are to me," Ukraine said, smoothing his hair.

"Why are you wearing a General's uniform?" Estonia asked her.

She smiled and gave a twirl, "Do you like it? I'm now General Katyusha Braginskaya..."

Lithuania had followed Estonia in and was now making tea. He really wanted no part in this and decided ignorance was bliss.

However, the next words he heard made him drop the teapot on the floor with a crash.

"...And I'm definitely pregnant," General Braginskaya told Eduard.

Eduard pulled her back in his arms and kissed her. "I've never kissed a Red Army General before!" he said. And then wished he hadn't – said those words, not the kiss – which he did enjoy.

Katya smiled and kissed him back.

Lithuania charged out of the kitchen, untying his apron strings, pulling his hair into a ponytail. "Well thank God Mr Russia isn't here! What the hell were you two thinking? Does anyone around here even think of using contraception?"

Katya and Eduard pulled apart guiltily. Katya looked set to cry, Eduard frowned and adjusted his glasses.

"I mean what the hell is Mr Russia going to say? He is going to explode when he finds out about this..."

Katya nodded and sniffed, "I know... but... we love each other..." and then she looked at Eduard for confirmation.

He nodded in agreement but looked worried.

"Bloody hell, Ed! Remember what the boss did to that milkman last year when he took a shine to Miss Katya? Or that window cleaner when he fell off that ladder looking through the window at Miss Katya's erm... assets? He's going to pile-drive you into the driveway."

Katya sniffed and Ed looked around, made sure Russia wasn't looming in the doorway and pulled her back into his arms, "Well... he got Latvia pregnant. So he can hardly go around moralising can he?" the Estonian said as bravely as he could. In his head he was adding up how much money he had in his off-shore accounts and whether it would be enough to get himself and Ukraine out of there and onto the most isolated island surrounded by sharks and barbed wire.

"Yes, he can... he can do what he wants. Use your head, Ed. He's 6 foot 2 and built like a garbage truck."

Ed considered this and turned to Katya, "Kat..." he began (he quite liked using the pet-name he'd just given her), "...If we go now, we could be back in Seychelles tonight..." he said.

Katya shook her head, "Oh Ed... you know it would never work..."

"Why? I love you, you love me and the baby..." Eduard was almost crying too. His usual calm, polite, reserved nature took a backseat and he wrapped his arms around the older woman.

Katya stepped back and smiled, "No, I mean we can't go there... we've been banned, remember?"

"Oh yes! Well... I have a nice island just off Gothenburg..."

Toris shook his head, "Ed, that won't work...Wait? What? An island?" Lithuania was appalled, "How come you have an island?"

Ed stammered, "Well... you see..."

Toris finally realised what Eduard had been doing the past forty years they'd been living in Russia's house – all those shady property deals - and his respect for his fellow Baltic went up. "Well it won't matter where you go because he'll just hunt you down. You know what he's like. Relentless, obsessive, like a predator..."

* * *

><p>Riga, Latvia<p>

The big 6 foot 2 inch built-like-a-truck predator was currently padding through the forest holding Latvia's hand.

"Do you have your gun, Vanya?" Latvia asked quietly.

"Nyet, but I have my pipe!" he answered chirpily.

"Good, because there are bears and wolves in these forests," she said.

Russia shrugged. It was doubtful he was going to run into anything more dangerous than himself, he would have been more worried if a coach-load of gay strippers had turned up.

"Here we are," Latvia said as she stopped in a clearing, "Did you bring the shovel?"

Russia nodded. He was still puzzled as to why they'd stopped off at a service station for a shovel. But he'd decided not to question it.

Latvia turned around and did something peculiar – to the Russian at least. She walked up to the nearest pine tree and seemed to take her bearings. She looked up and took note of the weak winter sun and then turned and disappeared back into the forest.

Russia almost panicked, especially after he heard her yell. He ran through the trees ready to punch out a large brown bear that he was sure was now mauling her. But he found her stood under a large birch tree.

She smiled at him and then took ten careful paces forward and stopped, reaching out for the shovel.

Russia shook his head, now realising what she meant and began digging.

* * *

><p>Bonn, Germany<p>

Germany was not a happy bunny. Not a happy bunny at all. For several reasons really. One being that a large coach-load of half-naked men had turned up on his driveway with his brother and his brother's very annoying half-baked half-drunk 'dude' friend and promptly tramped through his house, sat on his cream leather sofa leaving fake-tan all over the upholstery and then proceeded to drink all his beer.

He was also annoyed because he'd come home to a pile of paperwork, Gilbert's basement needed deep cleaning (it looked as if there'd been a massacre down there), several undesirables kept coming to the door asking for money from his brother and Italy had aimlessly followed him to the airport, onto the same flight and back to his home like a lost, stray puppy.

The latter was actually quite nice. Even though Germany wouldn't admit it, he liked having Feliciano sharing his home. The Italian slept in until noon, got up, made pasta, sang lots of Italian folk tunes all while wearing just his underwear – when he remembered to put any on.

But what really irked him was the Government officials who turned up at his house for an urgent meeting and went through the problems they'd had when they had no 'Nation'.

Honestly, he thought, he'd never had a day off sick since the 18th century, never took a holiday - only to visit Italy occasionally, attended very world meeting and conference and never made stupid jokes, threatened to bomb anyone, stick metal pipes in people's skulls, pull anyone's trousers down or drag anyone into closets. He thought he was the model Nation, the one they should all aspire to be like – hard-working, sober, intelligent, diligent, punctual. In other words, boring.

However, his Government's representatives told him that there'd been serious thoughts given to the fact that if anything happened to him again (Germany refused to remember his time dressed as a hippy in the psychiatric ward of Vienna General Hospital) then they really did not want to be faced with the prospect of asking Gilbert to stand in as their Nation again. Although no major catastrophe had befallen them, they had all agreed that it was close thing that Gilbert hadn't declared war on the Soviet Union or some such idiocy. But, if Ludwig went 'away' again, who could they ask and this is why a group of officious Government pen-pushers were now sat on Ludwig's neat sofa (now washed of fake tan – the sofa, not the officials) politely drinking tea.

"We need to ascertain that if or when you decided to take a trip..." here the official paused and glanced at Feliciano who was perched on Ludwig's knee, "... in the future, that we could call on someone to be the Nation..." he finally finished.

Germany did not like the way the man said 'trip' as if he'd been on some kind of drugs trip... "Well, I won't be going anywhere. I never go on holiday and if I do it's only to visit Italy..."

(Italy snuggled into him, much to Germany's irritation – the smaller Nation was like a limpet.)

"... and so there is really no need to ask my bruder to be Germany again. Mein Gott! You are lucky he didn't start World War Three!"

The government officials all exchanged looks, that was precisely their thoughts.

But if Germany was annoyed at their suggestions now, he was about to literally explode (well, okay not _literally _explode, that would be messy) with rage when he heard their next suggestion:

"Perhaps you should think about having children?"

The sentence wasn't quite finished before Germany jumped up, knocking Feliciano onto the floor and bellowed with rage, his face bright red, "Children?"

"Ve! Geeerrrrmaaaany! We could have lots and lots of bambinos!" Italy sang and started dancing around.

Germany was obviously not impressed by this, "Children? I'm supposed to have children?" he completely ignored Feliciano who was spinning around and babbling about the possibility of how many girls and boys they could have.

The officials all exchanged glances, nodded and one coughed politely, "Erm Mr Germany, all the other Nations have a substitute or son or daughter that can take over should they..."

Feliciano interrupted them and chirruped, "Si, si... we will have lots of little bambinos to take over as Germany... lots of little Italianos who can take over when me and Ludwig go on holiday to Venezia!"

"Oooh Italy..." Germany groaned, slumping down on the sofa as the officials hurried out.

"Que?"

"You're a man and I'm a man... so..."

"But Germany, I'm going to go and see Mr England and he will help me..." Italy sat down beside him and patted his hand, "You'll see, everything will be alright..."

* * *

><p>Riga, Latvia<p>

Russia had only been digging for around ten minutes before the shovel hit something hard and metallic and there was a thud. He stopped and threw the shovel to one side and bent down to scrape the dirt away.

Latvia knelt down beside him and reached down into the hole, but Russia gently nudged her away, "You can't do any lifting," he told her. (He'd insisted on her doing nothing since leaving Vienna and had even carried her gently into the hotel rooms they'd stayed in, bringing her breakfast in bed and generally treating her like a queen.)

He hauled out a metal box, dusted off the dirt and cracked it open, unsure as to what he would find.

Latvia gently took his hand, squeezed it and shook her head. She carefully lifted out a very old, mouldy Red Army greatcoat – the metal tin hadn't quiet protected it from over 30 years of damp and dirt.

Russia's eyes widened and then he smiled as he remembered the last time he'd seen that coat – wrapped around a young, blond girl sniper. There was also a mouldy camouflage jacket tucked away which Russia carefully unfolded.

Latvia paused and kissed Russia gently on the cheek before reaching in and lifting out a small package wrapped in newspaper. With great care she unwrapped it and lifted out several medals with ribbons still attached.

Russia's eyebrows shot up and he looked quizzically at Latvia, "Aija? These are yours?" he asked.

She nodded, taking an Order of Lenin with 'Major Aija Yereva' engraved on the back and holding them up, a soft smile on her lips of sadness and regret.

Russia gently gathered her onto his lap and held her against his chest, "You were very brave, little Aija," he whispered.

She laughed a little, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, "I know... I even had to keep a Russian officer warm one night... I saved his life!"

For a moment, Russia's purple aura returned and he growled and then... realised. "Oooh!" he said and then smiled, hugging her tight. "What was he like?" he asked and then hoped she would reply in a nice way...

"Oh... he was very nice... very handsome... even though it was dark..."

Russia blushed at this.

Latvia snuggled back into Russia's lap, tucking the medals into her pockets and continued, "... and he kept me nice and warm all night..."

Russia kissed the top of her head softly and smiled.

Latvia smiled and then, to Russia's regret pulled herself out of his arms and stood up, brushing the snow off her. Russia got up from the ground shaking the snow off his coat and followed her deeper into the forest.

"We hid out here in these forests for years," she said quietly.

Russia was silent, knowing she had to get something off her chest and it was best he said nothing.

"There were hundreds of us, here in my country, Estonia, Lithuania...and once we even got over the border into Russia and blew up a Red Army ammunition site," Latvia paused in her memories as she trudged through the forest. Ivan said nothing but gently took her hand and squeezed it reassuring her that he wasn't angry. He'd have done the same, to protect his country.

She hesitated as she came to another clearing, and then began to trudge up a hill. Russia still saying nothing, followed her like a large dog, his hand tightening on his metal pipe as he heard the howl of wolves in the distance.

Latvia walked on, checking behind her that Russia was loping after her and then came to a small hill. She turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "Well?" she asked.

Russia frowned and then realised where they were. His memory was often flaky. He could barely remember what he'd done the day before, events from the past sometimes hit him full square in the present and his only respite would be a vodka bottle, but he could remember the day Alaska had been born, he remembered the day he'd taken Lithuania from Poland – throwing the young Baltic Nation over his shoulder like he was a sack of potatoes and telling him that he was going to work for him, the day Germany invaded his beloved Motherland... and the cold winter night some 30 plus years earlier.

Latvia gently led him to the clump of bushes and pulled him in beside her, sitting herself down. Russia ducked in and sat down on the cold ground.

"How did you remember where this was?" Russia asked her as he pulled her onto his lap, looking around... the branches overhead still holding their late winter foliage now lightly covered in snow.

Latvia smiled, "Me and my comrades in the forest brothers used to meet down there in that clearing and I realised ages ago that this bit here is where I hid out from a load of Germans that night and this gorgeous Russian officer came along..." She trailed off to kiss him.

Russia was still gazing around him in fascination – he half expected to see a discard tin of meat or a chocolate wrapper.

Latvia ran her fingers through is thick blond hair, pulling him back into a kiss and then dug into her pocket and pulled out a bottle of vodka and a large bar of chocolate.

"For old times' sake?" she murmured.

Russia laughed at this, not a scary 'I'm going to rip your head off in a minute' laugh, or a 'it is funny watching my fellow Nations fighting' laugh, it was a genuine one of amusement and pleasure.

Ivan took a swig of the vodka, but not too much, he was driving after all and he had to stay sober to take care of his little Latvia and their precious bundle. Latvia drank none of it, but they shared the chocolate, both while lying back on the ground – Latvia's old army greatcoat under them - looking up at the cobalt blue sky.

They held hands for a few minutes until Latvia finally broke the silence, "Vanya... I'm cold," she whispered.

"We could go back to the car," Russia said.

Latvia sighed, he hadn't been this slow in coming forward the last two nights. The night before they'd spent in a hotel in Lithuania and he'd carried her up the stairs and into the hotel bedroom, laid her on the bed and they hadn't come down until breakfast the next morning – both giggling, linking hands, looking dishevelled and ignoring the other hotel residents' outraged looks.

Now, however, he was being particularly obtuse. Latvia rolled over and pinned him down – which was something that had never happened to Russia before. He blinked in surprise and was about to throw her off – a reflex action, but then realised it was just little Latvia who weighed about half as much as him and was now stroking his face and kissing him. He relaxed and placed his hands on her waist, undoing her coat.

Latvia leaned over and started to undo his coat, and then worked her way lower. Russia hesitated and then whispered, "It's a bit cold though, Aija?"

"Then you'll just have to warm up, Vanya," she answered, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Russia snorted at this and flipped her carefully onto her back, ran his hands down her sides, lingering gently on her still non-existent bump and got to work in warming them both up.

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

Five days later

Russia pulled up in the pink Ferrari, opened the passenger door and let Latvia out. He picked her up and carried her over the threshold.

"Are you two married?" Katya asked with some surprise, "And where have you been? It doesn't take six days to drive from Warsaw to here..."

Latvia and Russia exchanged looks and Latvia giggled and blushed, she didn't really didn't want to answer why had it taken them six days to get home. In actual fact they'd had far too many stop-offs at hotels and in some cases it had been lunch-time before they'd emerged from their bedroom. As Russia had said, they'd had over 30 missing years to make up.

"Erm... nyet, we are not married. But we should be, da?" Russia raised an eyebrow and then promptly went down on one knee and took the small Latvian's hand.

Latvia broke into giggles, "Oooh Vanya, we don't have to... we can't... maybe one day...?"

Russia looked disappointed, but thought it was perhaps because he didn't have a ring? He would get one tomorrow, he decided. So he stood up and looked his sister up and down. She looked different, but he couldn't work out why. He soon found out.

"Well... you two," Katya started to say. "You both look really happy," she took a deep breath. They did actually – her 'little' brother looked happier than she'd ever seen him and Latvia had a little glow in her cheeks, "... and I'm so pleased about your news. I can't wait to be Auntie Katya again... what with you and Natalya having a little one... even if it is with Arthur who is an odd man... but anyway..."

Estonia nudged her. He was rather hoping that, with Russia being all loved up with Raivis, that their news would be greeted positively.

"...I'm expecting again..." Katya told him. "You're going to be an uncle again..." and then waited.

Russia wasn't really surprised, his sister had been very fertile in the past, but it annoyed him that someone had taken advantage of her. In his eyes, his big sister was a soft touch for any passing bloke with a sad story. There had been quite a few and a number of them had met with Russia's fist and/or metal pipe.

"Who's the father?" he asked with a menacing growl.

"Well..." Katya hesitated as the purple aura started to blaze around her brother.

"Vanya... I don't think that's any of your business," Latvia said carefully and put a warning hand on his arm. She glanced at Estonia, who had, to give him his due, stepped forward. Lithuania stood next to him but looked very worried and was about to bring out the magical vodka.

Russia gently shook Latvia's hand away and took out his metal pipe, "Who's is it? I'm going to kill him ... sestra they just use you and it's not fair... you are too nice. If it's a KGB officer then I will kill him twice..."

They all glanced at each other, confused. How on earth do you kill someone twice?

Estonia opened his mouth to say, it was him and instinctively covered his head expecting a pipe to be embedded in it.

But it was Latvia who stepped in. She winked at both Eduard and Katya, and said, "Vanya, I think Katya said that it was somebody she didn't know?"

Katya was about to say something, that she wasn't that type of woman but Latvia shook her head and mouthed at her, 'Go with it, trust me'.

"Wut? Not again... Katya? If I ever get my hands on Viktor's father I am going to smash his head in for leaving you all alone..."

Katya shook her head, "That was over two hundred years ago, brother..."

Russia was not interested in this. He was still annoyed that his big sister got dumped with these children.

Eduard swallowed, stepped forward, raised himself to his full five feet, nine inches and said in his bravest voice, "Mr Russia... I'll take care of Miss Ukraine..." he began to say.

Russia spun around and looked at his geekiest Baltic, "You will?"

Eduard nodded, and pushed his glasses back up his nose, "Yes... I mean, I..."

Latvia smiled and nodded at Eduard, "Vanya, if this father doesn't turn up then Eduard will help Miss Katya. He's very reliable and he'll make sure that financially she'll be okay, won't you, Ed?" she winked at him.

"Yes, erm... that farm you have, Miss Katya? Well I'm sure you're not getting all the money you could out of it, and with a little one on the way..."

Russia clapped a large hand on Estonia's shoulder, "Good boy, Ed... and you will be quite safe with him, big sis," here he whispered in Katya's ear, "He's gay..." (Katya almost choked at this.) "...so I can trust him..."

Toris was watching all this with huge eyes. How on earth did the crafty bugger get away with it, he thought.

Latvia smiled and she exchanged knowing smiles with Katya.

With a bit of luck, Russia's spaciness and bad memory, they might just get away with this...

As it happened, Eduard and Katya's brief hug was completely missed by Russia as he completely exploded over another development at his house. (Not literally exploded, again, that would be very messy.)

"What happened to my study?" he bellowed. The fact was that there was a painting of a cute kitten wearing a hat in place of a painting of the Battle of Moscow, floral curtains and a chintzy throw on his armchair was not the worst of it. The worst of it was that his 'secret' stash of vodka hidden in his desk drawer and his secret back-up vodka which was hidden behind a copy of Kama Sutra that France had given him many years before, were both gone.

Ukraine's young blond secretary popped her head around the door and said in her little girl voice, "Hello Mr Russia? Do you have a problem? Don't you like the new decor? Miss Ukraine said I could do it... anyway, as Mr Eduard is going to stay with Miss Ukraine now I'm going to be your new secretary..."

Russia growled at her, who was this little chirpy thing anyway? And why wasn't she shaking?

"You will change this back for me and keep out of my way..." he growled in his most menacing voice.

Miss Ivanova actually smiled, patted his arm and said, "Aw, you're so sweet! My boss said you'd be really scary, but you're not at all..." and then in a wave of complete airheaded-ness, she wafted out smiling.

"I'm not scary any more!" Russia said in disbelief.

Latvia gently hugged him, "Don't worry, Vanya... you are sweet but you're still scary..."

Russia blushed... she thought he was sweet!

* * *

><p>Helsinki, Finland<p>

"...Well, you'd have thought he'd be home by now, Ber. I mean it's just not like him... all his beers are still in his room where he left them and those horrid magazines..." The speaker was Tino, he was just putting on his Santa suit on, getting ready for work.

Berwald, making breakfast for Peter, just nodded. In actual fact, he was quite pleased that Denmark hadn't come home. Life was so much easier without the big goon making the house look untidy, shouting at the television, making prank calls and squabbling like a big kid with Sealand.

"Peter! Get down here... time for school!" Tino shouted up the stairs and then continued his one-sided conversation with his 'husband' – which he was used to. "I mean, I hope he's alright... the last time we saw him he'd gone off with Gilbert and that's never good news."

Berwald didn't answer this. He wasn't in the slightest bit concerned about Denmark's welfare, the big goon always managed to turn up – usually with some girl in tow.

"... And if he thinks that I'm going to bail him out again when he gets arrested..."

Tino's tirade was interrupted by a horrid sound on the driveway outside.

Berwald looked up, Peter shuffled in, scratching his head, his school uniform askew.

The small Principality ran to the window and yelled, "Dad... Mum... Mr Russia's here... and he's brought your car back!"

This should have been good news, however, it was the laughing way Sealand had said the word 'car' that made Sweden and Finland go to the door and open it with some trepidation.

Sweden, at first, couldn't believe quite what he was seeing. Russia had returned his car... but not quite in the way that he'd hoped.

As it happened, Estonia had not been quite as efficient as he usually was. He had had the car delivered to a garage and had expected it to be repaired. But, whether it was because of his impending fatherhood, the realisation that he wasn't going to be pounded into dust by his boss or just miscommunication, the garage owner had taken one look at Sweden's once pride and joy and done the only thing really he thought he could do.

Hence, Russia had driven Poland's pink Ferrari (with Latvia in the passenger seat, trying to look inconspicuous) up the driveway, its back wheels almost flat due to the weight in the back.

"What in God's name?" 'Santa' began.

Sweden stood beside him, "M'car?" he asked in bewilderment.

Sealand stood behind them, sniggering. He'd already figured out what was happening.

Russia climbed out of the small car, walked around to the back and lifted up what looked to be a large metal pancake.

Humming, Russia brought it around and plonked it down in front of Sweden and Finland and said, without any humour or irony, "I've brought your car back for you."

Sweden still didn't understand, Finland looked at the 6 foot long chunk of crushed metal and then back at Russia, realisation slowly dawning. Sealand sniggered. Latvia, slowly getting out of the car, approached warily.

"M'car?" Sweden asked again.

Russia nodded happily, "It looks a bit different... and the tyres are still a bit squashed, but you can change them..."

"Are ya tryin' t'be funny?" Sweden asked, his voice going very low and dangerous.

Russia frowned. Estonia had assured him that it was 'all sorted'. However, the love-struck Baltic hadn't actually seen what remained of the Volvo, but had taken the garage's word for it that 'they'd done all they could' and the flat metal pancake had arrived at Russia's house on the back of a pick-up truck. Russia had promptly, thinking he was being useful and neighbourly, plonked it on the back of Poland's Ferrari (actually now Latvia's Ferrari, thereby ruining the suspension) and drove to Sweden's house.

"That's... that's..." Finland struggled to find his voice.

"Dad, you're not going to be driving me to school in that!" Sealand announced gleefully.

Sweden turned and glared at his 'son'.

Russia frowned at this, "A bit of fiddling with the engine..." he said lamely.

"In what universe are you living in that you think 'fiddling with the engine' will ever make this car roadworthy?" Finland suddenly exploded. "It's been through a crusher!"

Latvia carefully intervened, "Erm Santa, I mean erm Tino... we thought that we'd better bring it back. Vanya didn't know..." she added lamely.

Russia smiled down at her. She always seemed to make things appear a little better, he thought. He then bent down and picked up the car and attempted to hand it to Sweden.

Finland's eyes widened.

"Wooo! I wish I had Mr Russia's super-strength!" Sealand said, as if Russia was some superhero.

It was the final straw for Sweden when the tinny sounds of 'Dancing Queen' could be heard coming from the inside the metal.

Russia smiled and chirruped, "The radio still works!"

Sweden growled something unintelligible and slammed back into the house. Finland and Latvia exchanged worried looks. Russia held the car to his ear as if it were a gigantic radio, with a silly smile on his face, "You like ABBA, little Aija, da?" he asked.

Inside the house there was crashing and banging and then Sweden reappeared with a huge broadsword.

"Go Dad!" Sealand shouted, completely overjoyed that his 'boring dad' was all riled up.

"Oh no! Ber..." Tino was horrified as Berwald swept past both him and Sealand and slammed into Russia, making the big Arctic Nation drop his 'transistor'.

Russia's big purple eyes widened in confusion, "They were about to play Meatloaf!" he said.

Latvia jumped out of the way, "Vanya! No!" she said in desperation. She would have gotten in the middle of them, but she feared for hers and her baby's safety.

"But that's what they said...Meatloaf is on next..." Russia said lamely and then he quickly jumped back as Sweden, now in full Viking mode, swung his broadsword at him.

"You... you... big... lame... stupid..." with each word, the big Swede took a swipe at the big Russian with his sword as Ivan dodged and ducked.

"Vanya!" Latvia shouted and ran to Tino, "Please, Tino, stop this..." she pleaded.

"Go Dad!" Sealand yelled and then whispered to Latvia, "This is ace and I should be in double maths..."

Latvia didn't think it was funny and said so.

"Aw... anyway, my money's on Mr Russia cos he's a bad-ass..." Sealand told her.

Russia took out Mr Pipe and parried Sweden's blows. His purple aura didn't make an appearance, he just wasn't angry. He'd spent a whole week with Latvia – holding her and kissing her every night, he was going to be a father and Estonia had taken his older sister out of his way back to Kiev, telling him that he would 'sort out her finances for her', so in Russia's eyes things were looking pretty good. He could allow a little fight with Sweden.

Finland attempted to step between them, "Berwald, Ivan... please stop this," he said.

Neither Nation listened as broadsword met metal pipe with clangs of metal and grunts from both opponents.

Latvia squeaked with fear, "Vanya, don't get hurt... Mr Sweden... please don't hurt him..." she pleaded. Normally this would be enough to stop Sweden, however, he was now in full Viking mode and nothing was going to stop him.

However, something did stop them... something quite unexpected but actually quite awesome.

A large coach with the words 'Hawaiian Tropic' pulled up in the driveway and the familiar foghorn voice of Den could be heard yelling, "Wait a minute, dudes, I need to get my beer and my Scooby Doo mug and t-shirt..."

Sweden, lowered his broadsword and watched in utter disgust as Denmark, clad only in very tight speedos jumped out the coach, sauntered past Latvia, giving her salacious wink as he did so (she giggled loudly) and strode into the house, belching loudly.

Russia also lowered his pipe and frowned, "Has he been on holiday?" he chirruped.

Sealand was having the time of his life. As well as his 'parents' forgetting to take him to school amidst all the commotion, there'd been a brilliant fight and now his Uncle Den had turned up. "Ha! You're in trouble, Uncle Den... Mum says that Santa won't visit you this year!"

Den wasn't bothered as he hunted around for his Scooby Doo paraphernalia, his Christmas was going to be spent in Hawaii (he thought).

Finland was outraged, "What in the name of Rudolf?" he yelled as forty something buffed up men, also clad in speedos (although some were wearing robes) and fake tan, jumped off the bus and proceeded to slouch past to use the toilet.

Latvia's eyes widened and she stepped back, "It's such a shame Pol isn't here," she said sadly.

"Are they going to the beach?" Russia asked innocently.

"You're a disgrace!" Finland shouted at the Danish Nation.

"Kesese! You lot kill me... me and Den are going on our most awesome adventure..." Prussia leapt out of the coach. He too was wearing just a pair of speedos and his normally very pale skin was now... orange.

"With a load of gay men?" Latvia asked, raising an eyebrow. "And what happened to your five metres?"

"Aw shaddap..."

Russia looked the small Prussian up and down, "Five metres of what?" he asked innocently.

Latvia smiled, took hold of the Russian and pushed him back towards the Ferrari, "Never mind, Vanya..." she said, still giggling.

"Can we go to the beach too, Aija?" Russia asked her as he started the engine, about to leave behind the chaos that was now erupting in Finland's driveway.

"Yes, my love," she said, still laughing as Prussia was being pinned against a wall by Sweden, his broadsword just close to his jugular as the Prussian attempted to explain just why he'd brought a coach-load of men into his house. Sealand had run indoors and re-emerged and was taking photographs – no doubt to sell on to Hungary and Belgium. Finland was still shouting at Denmark to 'get his big fat Danish ass down here and explain why there was a queue of forty half-naked men waiting outside his bathroom'.

Latvia then gave Russia a crafty side-ways look, "I'll even get you some speedos... but only if you wear them just for me!" she said.

Russia almost crashed the car leaving the driveway at this remark...

Author's Notes:

As you can see, I enjoyed writing this chapter so much, I couldn't finish it... an epilogue to follow. Am on holiday for two weeks and am uploading this without much editing/checking but wanted to get it up (no sniggering at the back) before I went...

References to my other story Winter's Night – I thought I would bring everything full circle...


	40. Epilogue No 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: CactusNoir, LeedsLass, Simonana, Spearsem, IrishMaid, Blueladymare, PeppermintTwertle, Ever Blazin, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**Warnings: None!**

Epilogue No. 1

_Stockholm, Sweden_

"Package for you, m' wife," Sweden said, passing a large brown envelope to Finland.

"Thanks, Ber," Finland carefully opened the package. The first thing he saw was a small piece of paper, which he lifted out and inspected, at first expecting it to be some kind of receipt. It wasn't.

The note read:

_To Tino and Berwald,_

_You've gotta see this._

_~ Liz._

"Oh, it's from Hungary," Tino announced. This was odd; she didn't normally send them things. Even so, Tino felt inside the envelope for whatever Hungary had sent them and upon feeling a smooth surface discovered that it was a magazine.

Finland lifted the magazine out of its envelope and placed it in the middle of the breakfast table... which was probably a mistake. Sweden's reaction was to spit out his coffee all over the tablecloth, whilst Finland's was to smack his hand over Sealand's eyes.

For there, on the front cover of "Playgirl", was Denmark in all his glory. Though Finland had seen him as such before (the Dane had a habit of running around the house naked when he won a game or a bet, was drunk, or was otherwise happy), one never quite got used to it. The whole thing was made worse, of course, by Mathias's lewd grin (which he probably thought was alluring but was actually rather scary), the Santa hat perched precariously upon his carefully dishevelled hair, and the "have you been a good girl this holiday season?" text placed strategically so that it only just covered Den's vital regions.

"What..." Sweden spluttered, still recovering as he'd somehow snorted coffee up his nose, "the Hell... is _that _supposed to be?"

"I..." Finland shook his head to try and clear it a little, still struggling to keep his hand over Sealand's eyes so that he didn't see the horror of what his clinically insane uncle had gone and done _now_. "Go and play, Peter."

"But-"

"Go." Sweden grunted, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with his sleeve before putting them back on again and frowning. He'd obviously blamed the sight on his glasses and thought that cleaning them would make the image of his... brother... make more sense.

It didn't. "Fine," Sealand muttered, getting up from the table and taking his "How to seduce ze ladies, ah yes! -By Francis Bonnefois" booklet with him.

"How..." Sweden began, then shook his head and tried again. "Why?"

"I don't know, Ber," Finland replied. "I just don't know. But I hope he knows, Norway will be hearing about this."

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile in Leningrad, Russia...<em>

Once the initial laughter had died down, comments were made.

"It is very small, _da_? Poor Denmark." Russia said first.

"How can you tell if it's small?" Toris asked, trying to be kind as usual.

"The text covering it up isn't big," Latvia said, stifling a giggle. "Nah, definitely not impressed. From the way he talks about 'Copenhagen' I was expecting a little more."

"More what?" Estonia asked. He had been the only person who hadn't laughed, grimaced or spilled a drink upon seeing the magazine cover. He had just said "seen it," very matter-of-factly. Whether he was referring to the magazine cover or Denmark in his current state of undress is uncertain.

Latvia shrugged. "Just more."

"It says there's, like, more pictures inside," Poland pointed out, tapping a perfectly-manicured nail on the corner of the magazine cover.

"Oh, God..." Lithuania muttered, as Poland started flipping through the pages.

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, in East Germany...<em>

Prussia and America stood in a convenience store, both with arms full of various items (Prussia: bread, milk, sausages, beer bottles, America: comics and coca-cola cans) gazing mournfully at a magazine rack near the doorway.

"Dude..." Prussia said softly as he examined the cover of the latest issue of "Playgirl".

"I know, man. I know." America replied, reaching out a hand to pat Prussia on the shoulder and not really noticing when one of his comics fell to the floor.

Right at that moment, a gang of schoolchildren came into the shop. One of them glanced at the magazine rack... then his eyes widened. "It's the bad Santa!"

"Not cool, dude, not cool." Prussia said to Den's smirking face, printed there forever upon the shiny cover of the magazine, before going to the counter to pay for his stuff. And leaving. Swiftly.

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, in Venice, Italy...<em>

"_Ciao, _everybody~!" Italy greeted, walking into his house and kicking his shoes off as he went. Romano and Spain sat opposite each other at the dining room table eating some leftover pizza; Spain smiling adoringly at Romano, Romano scowling at Spain and muttering Italian obscenities under his breath.

Germany, meanwhile, was sprawled across the sofa in the adjoining living room.

"Did you get the pasta, _fratello_?" Romano asked around a mouthful of cheese and tomato pizza.

"_Si_! And you'll never guess what else I got..."

"Pizza?"

"No."

"Wine?"

"No."

"Something I can drug Antonio with so he won't be such a _bastardo_?"

"No... you're so mean, Lovi~!"

Romano scowled, though to be honest it wasn't much of a change from his usual expression. "Just tell us what you bought."

"This!" Italy emptied the contents of his shopping bag onto the table. Packets of noodles, penne pasta, tomatoes... and a magazine. Lovino was about to tell Italy off for making such a fuss over something so stupid when he saw the picture on the front of the magazine and promptly began choking on his pizza.

"Roma!" Spain exclaimed, running around the side of the table so he could help Romano.

"I'm-_cough-cough-_fine!-_cough-cough_... Stupid tomato bastard!"

Though nobody noticed because of Romano's shouting, Germany emerged from the living room at that point. "What is going on in here?"

"_Ciao_, Germany!" Italy said, waving at Germany and remaining oblivious to the growing tension in the room.

"Why would you buy this?" Romano yelled when he finally stopped choking.

Germany, for the first time, looked over at the table. "_Mein Gott_!"

"_Si_, it's Denmark with no clothes on! I bought it to show everyone because I didn't think you'd believe me..."

"I'd believe you, Feli," Spain said kindly, dodging a glancing blow from Romano. "It's just the kind of thing Denmark would do."

"Why, though, would you want _us _to see it? I think I'd rather see just about anyone else naked instead of him. He's an utter _dummkopf._ Besides, you do know I'm related to him, right?" Germany said, massaging his temples. Only 10am and he was already getting a headache.

"So you'd rather see _me _naked instead? Pervert bastard!" Romano piped up.

"No, I mean... nevermind."

"Poor Germany. Come with me and I'll braid your hair again, _si_?" Italy took Germany's hand and lead him away.

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile in London, England<em>

England was sat in his favourite armchair, Belarus snuggled at his feet, playing with their puppy. The football was on the television, his team was winning, a pot of tea was brewing on the table, a plate of biscuits standing by. Could life be any more cosy or perfect? What could possibly spoil it?

"Oooh Angleterre! Belarus... Mon leetle lurve pigeons..."

"Bugger! What the bloody hell does he want?" Arthur sighed and attempted to get out of his armchair.

Belarus got up, rubbed her growing bump and pulled out a knife, "I thought you'd locked the door, Arthur?" she asked.

"Aah my sweet leetle lovers... you are so adorable..." Francis purred as he swanned in, swishing his hair and ignoring Belarus' knife.

"Just bugger off, Francy-pants. We don't need your sort around here," England said.

"Ah mais non, I 'ave brought somezing to show you. I thought it would make your heart sing..." France said and, opening his Chanel 'man-bag' (England grimaced at the sight), pulled out a magazine.

He tapped a manicured nail on the cover, "See, my little flowers. A fellow Nation has found his vocation. Eet is wonderful, non?"

England took hold of the magazine gingerly between thumb and forefinger. "Playgirl? Isn't this with naked men?"

Belarus nodded and then hurriedly said, "I think so... I mean I wouldn't know of course..."

England decided to ignore this and ignore why France had bought the damned thing. Sometimes it was better not to know and then... he saw the cover.

"What in the name of Churchill is _he _doing on this and ... what the bloody hell is he wearing or not wearing...?"

Belarus' eyebrows shot up, Daisy (who had been sniffing Francis' trousers with a disgusted look on her face) ran out, France smiled.

"Aaah! I remember it well... that pantry... what a night..." Francis twirled around delightedly.

England threw the magazine as far away from him as possible, "Bloody big idiot Viking... oh..." he stopped suddenly, staring at the television screen, "Damn and blast!"

"What is it mon cher?" France purred.

Belarus picked up the discarded magazine with interest.

"I've just missed the bloody equalising goal..." England was distraught and then suddenly, so suddenly he knocked over his cup of tea, spun around and grabbing Francis by the neck, dragged him out of the door, opened the back door and threw him out.

"Now bugger off back to your seedy little hotel so I can watch my footie!"

England slouched back into the lounge, rubbing his hands, "Finally, get some bloody peace, bloody French tart..."

Belarus settled herself down on the couch, having made England and herself a fresh pot of tea and perused the magazine – purely out of curiosity of course.

There was a banging on the window and a familiar golden-haired head appeared, "Mes amis... mon magazine, s'il vous plait..." came a plaintive call.

**Epilogue No. 2 to follow soon with lots of Russ-Lat fluff.**


	41. Epilogue No 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: pumpkinpatch212, Beelzineff, CactusNoir, LeedsLass, Simonana, Spearsem, IrishMaid, Blueladymare, PeppermintTwertle, Ever Blazin, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.**

**This last chapter is dedicated to all of you. Thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing, commenting and keeping the story going.**

Warnings: Sheer unadulterated fluff, Pru-Den, France...

Epilogue No. 2

Around two months later...

Russia straightened his tuxedo and bow tie and attempted for the hundredth time to brush his hair down into something resembling a parting. He failed. He sniffed the scarf around his neck again, checking it was clean and had a quick swig of vodka to quell the butterflies in his stomach.

He replaced the glass on the mantelpiece and looked up at the picture above the fire – a real, authentic, original da Vinci showing two Italian cherubs aiming their arrows at a hastily patched up canvas with a picture of himself in full General's uniform. Russia was quite pleased with the result.

His new 'maid' hadn't been pleased.

"Dammit! I never thought of bow and arrow!" the small bad-tempered Italian had sworn whilst dusting along the marble fire place with his feather duster. He'd been silenced with one look from Russia's purple glare.

"Three more weeks, dammit..." Romano had chanted to himself – the price of his misdemeanour evident by the awful maid's uniform he'd been forced to wear.

* * *

><p>"Braginski! You look... er..." Poland took a deep breath.<p>

"Handsome? Debonair?" Russia asked hopefully.

"Musty... I mean, sweetie..." (Russia winced at this) "... How old is that tux?" Poland went on.

"I don't know... I bought it when I went with Mr Khrushchev to visit America in..." here Russia screwed up his nose and closed his eyes in concentration and scanned his scarred memory. "Do you think Aija will mind?" he said finally.

This was his first date with a real woman in... he had no idea how long. And yes, he supposed she was officially his girlfriend – that word made him feel funny and gave him a little pink glow. And yes, she was carrying his baby which also gave him little bursts of pure joy at odd moments, yet they'd never actually been on a proper date.

Poland shook his head, took hold of Russia's arm and dragged him upstairs, "Come on honey. You must have something you can wear... that thing smells as if Khrushchev died in it."

* * *

><p>Latvia was also attempting to make herself more glamorous. Her only clothes were her khaki combats, a tatty pair of jeans, an old pair of trousers with the bottoms taken up that used to belong to Toris and the pink miniskirt Pol had given her when she'd first 'come out' as a girl, which seemed centuries ago.<p>

So she and Pol (Katya was at her farm with Estonia, the latter, clever Nation helping her with her finances) had rummaged through the various boxes in the attic. They found several bizarre items. Cossack outfits, fur hats, a panda costume, a crown that could have been real, various military uniforms with varying stains on them, ballerina costumes and eventually some beautiful gowns. Latvia wondered whose they were. Some were perhaps Katya's – they were too large in the bust for Latva – but they found one that was a beautiful midnight blue with encrusted pearls on the fitted bodice that seemed much smaller.

"Right, come on, girlfriend," Pol had said and promptly pulled the dress over her head without further ado.

It had actually fitted her as if it were made for her. The bodice fitting around her gently swelling stomach, the silken material just skimming the floor. Poland had even done her hair, curling it just right and then gently pulling it back with a diamond comb they'd found.

Latvia now looked in the full-length mirror and tried, unsuccessfully to walk in high-heels. It was useless, she was used to army boots and she stumbled as she tried to walk. How on earth did Pol do it, she wondered.

* * *

><p>When Russia stood at the foot of the staircase waiting for his date, he was now attired in a more pleasant-smelling suit. He still wore a scarf to cover his neck and had carefully arranged and re-arranged it to hide his scars.<p>

Then he stopped fumbling and stared as Latvia came down the stairs. She was attempting a glamorous entrance but failed epically as the high heels she was wearing got stuck and she tripped down the last few steps.

Russia caught her gently in his arms and held her for a moment against his chest before setting her down.

He stared open-mouthed, looking slightly gormless, gently touched her blond hair and then ran a hand down her side with the lightest of touches.

Latvia smiled up at him, "Vanya, you look so handsome!" she said.

Russia blinked slowly, "This dress..." he began as he touched the pearls on her bodice.

"I hope it's okay? Me and Pol found it..." Latvia hesitated when she saw the sad look on Russia's face, his purple irises misted a little.

Russia nodded and then said quietly, "The last time I saw it, little Anastasia was wearing it at one of the last balls. I taught her to waltz," he said softly.

Latvia immediately wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his chest, "I'm so sorry. I'll go upstairs and take it off," she began to say, rubbing his broad back.

Russia gently tipped her chin up and gazed into her eyes, "Nyet, Aija. You should wear it. She would be pleased it is being worn. You look very beautiful. I kept so many of her things and... you should have them. She would like that."

Latvia stroked his cheek and smiled.

As they stepped out into the cold night air, Pol and Lithuania were watching, the former with his hands clasped in utter joy, the latter with a slightly bewildered but worried look on his face.

"Take care of her, Braginski. And Latty darling, try not to trip up..." Pol called as Russia held open the car door.

"And don't stay out too late..." Toris called.

"What are you? Her father?" Pol said, gently nudging Lithuania.

"I know... it's just... she's like my little sister..." Toris said quietly.

Pol smiled and wrapped his arms around Toris, "I love you, Liet, you're so cute. Right, come on, let's leave those youngsters to their night out..."

Toris doubted Russia could ever be called a 'youngster', "Mr Russia's older than you!" Toris exclaimed as he allowed himself to be pulled back into the house.

"Of course he is, sweetie. And he looks it. I, on the other hand, still only look 21..." Pol said.

* * *

><p>Dinner at the finest restaurant in Leningrad where only the top officials ate and then ballet at the Mariinsky Theatre – the perfect date, Russia thought.<p>

In actual fact, Russia didn't eat much dinner. He was too busy staring at Latvia. Completely mesmerised by her, and every time she moved and her bodice seemed to threaten to undo and the swell of her breasts bounced, he dropped his breadsticks and then had to hurry off to the bathroom.

Latvia barely ate anything either. She was aware that there were a lot of people staring at them. She supposed they were looking at Russia – many of the restaurants' customers were government officials and she supposed they were afraid of her 'date'. She also felt strangely bashful and for a whole twenty minutes they sat in silence, while she fumbled with the menu, Russia tried to pick some wine and then just pointed vaguely at a nervous customer, telling the wine waiter 'I'll have that one'. The said customer (a high-ranking KGB officer) almost emptied his bladder in fright.

It was utterly bizarre as they gazed at each other. Russia thinking how enchanting she was and barely believing that she was there, with him, without coercion or alcohol and he couldn't quite come up with coherent speech to tell her all this. Latvia, for her part, was thinking how handsome he looked, how all the women in the room were looking at him – tall, strong and gorgeous in his dark suit – and how her dress was making her feel all squashed and hot.

But both were thinking along the same lines. Why on earth had they left it 30 years to get to this point? Latvia now wished she'd told him at the beginning who she was. Russia was wishing he'd never been so bullying and scary to the little Baltic who'd arrived at his home so many years before.

They both reached out at the same time and entwined fingers.

"Aija... I... when..." Russia began to say.

"Vanya... when I came to your house..." Latvia began.

And they were both interrupted by a commotion from a neighbouring table.

"Chicken nuggets and fries? Peter...?"

"Mom... Dad... I know... but I don't want to eat this rubbish..."

"Peter, it's not rubbish. Ber, tell him..."

Russia rolled his eyes, was it possible that they could have a date without other Nations being around?

Latvia smiled, "It's Berwald and Tino's anniversary," she told him.

Russia grunted a reply.

Latvia waved across at them and the trio waved back, Sweden and Russia sharing a glare, Finland smiling happily, Sealand waved a book which appeared to be entitled 'How to be an economic superpower in four easy decades by Yao Wang'.

"I think Poland might have told people we were on a date..." Latvia began to say.

Russia growled, bent a spoon in half and his purple aura shimmered.

"... I think they're just happy for us," she continued.

Russia wondered if they could be happy for them further away.

He was about to say just that when he was interrupted by an extravagant Frenchman who wouldn't go away until Russia had bought all his red roses.

"Honhonhon, a beautiful rose for ze beautiful lade?" France had crooned.

Russia growled, "Why are you here?"

"Ze romance... eet is so beautiful... 'ow could I resist... Le Russie... and ze beautiful La Lettonie... ah oui..." France twirled around the restaurant. He was brought to an abrupt halt by Russia's hand around his neck.

"I'll take all of them... if you fuck off..." Russia snarled in his face.

There was a halt in eating around the restaurant. France cocked his head on one side, "Mind ze hair, mon ami... but of course you can buy all of my beautiful flowers... She is worth it, non?"

Russia nodded, letting go of the French Nation, digging in his pocket, dumping money into the Frenchman's hands and then handing Latvia over two dozen red roses.

She blushed as he mumbled, "These are for you, my love..."

"Tell 'er zat zay are nothing compared to her beauty!" Francis said, helpfully, in his ear.

Russia slammed his elbow backwards into Francis' ribs, slumped back down in his seat, ignoring the now prostrate France who was gurgling and murmured, "They are nothing compared to your beauty."

"Hmmm," Latvia said, but nervously sniffed them anyway.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until the desserts – of which Russia ate both, Latvia feeling too nervous and skittish to eat, that they managed to actually talk. By then, Finland, Sweden and Sealand had left (Sealand still complaining about the 'posh food', his English genes coming through alarmingly – his 'parents' shaking their heads sadly).<p>

France had been carried out and was no doubt annoying some other Nation elsewhere, probably England or even America.

"Vanya..."

"Do you feel sick again, Aija?"

"No, it's just..."

"Do I have chocolate around my mouth?" Russia asked.

Latvia nodded and then passed him a napkin, but felt an urge to lean across and kiss the chocolate off – very slowly.

Russia smiled and wiped his mouth. "Thank you, little Aija... you know when you came to my house, I wasn't very friendly and you were scared, da? Did you decide to keep pretending you were a boy because you were scared of me?" He said all this in a rush and looked her straight in the eyes.

What could she say? If she told him the truth, that yes, she had been terrified of him, he would be upset, so she lied, "It was Gilbert, Sir. He was an arse and I knew I would get no peace from him. And... then... it was too late. I wish I'd told you earlier... I wish you'd found out earlier..." she gazed at him. Actually, she thought she hadn't _exactly _lied.

Russia beamed at this, "You weren't too scared of me, then? I didn't bully you too much? I thought you were a boy and needed to toughen up sometimes... I did like you, even when I thought you were a boy..."

Latvia's eyes widened.

Russia flushed and said hurriedly, "But not like that... I thought you were cute... But not in that way..."

Latvia smiled, "You're so funny..."

Russia frowned, "I thought you were gay – like Toris and Eduard."

Latvia spluttered on her water, "Ed? Gay?" and then she saw Russia's uncomprehending face. "Oh... oh yes, he is... of course. And Toris... hahaha... he's had more women than I've had hot dinners!"

Russia shook his head, "Oh Aija... you are very naive..." he wagged his finger at her, "Toris is gay for Polska!"

Latvia laughed at this. She found Russia's interpretation of Toris' sexuality funny. Russia seemed to view it as some sort of hobby that Toris only did at the weekends - and with Poland. Latvia knew otherwise, Toris, she knew, had had more girls in his room than Russia would ever know. She started giggling again.

"Wut?" Russia asked, completely confused.

Latvia shook her head, she couldn't tell him but she looked up and saw two familiar faces with their noses pressed against the window – one had his tongue stuck out and was making an obscene gesture with his hand.

"Gil? Den?" Latvia said, half pleased and half annoyed that they were there.

Denmark responded by making an obscene motion with his tongue, and then pulling Gilbert into a headlock.

Russia growled, "They are hooligans," he said.

"They're my friends..." Latvia protested and then turned back to the window, miming, "Come in and have something to eat..." she said it slowly, mouthing the words.

Russia glared at the two miscreants. He couldn't say anything, they'd saved his little Aija's life, but his fists itched and one hand wandered to his coat pocket and fingered his faucet pipe.

Gil extricated himself from Den's headlock and mouthed back as Den stood looking gormless, "We can't..."

"Why?" Latvia asked.

"Banned from every restaurant in Leningrad..." Gil mouthed back and grinned.

Latvia couldn't help but smile at the two idiots in front of her.

"You okay?" Gil mouthed at her.

She nodded.

Den then opened his mouth and no 'miming' or exaggerated sign language – obscene or otherwise – was necessary, "WE WERE WORRIED ABOUT YOU... GOING ON A DATE WITH BIG FAT MAD COMMIE BASTARD!" Den yelled, every word clearly reaching a radius of around 5 miles around him with ease.

Russia abruptly stood up, pulled out his faucet pipe and was about to smash through the window and grab the two idiotic Nations and pulverise them into the ground.

Latvia put a hand on his arm, felt the muscles tense and relax a little and said softly, "They're just watching out for me, Vanya."

Russia pulled her to her feet, threw money on the table to pay the bill and stormed out.

Den and Gil were still pulling faces at various diners and were, therefore, caught unawares when Russia clamped a huge hand on each of their shoulders.

"Privet comrades..." he said silkily. "Why are you here?"

"Aaaaaaargh!" Den and Gil screamed (in a manly way) in unison and Gilbert leapt into Den's arms.

Den dropped him.

"We're checking on dude chick, dude..." Denmark told the larger Nation.

"Yeah, man..." Gil said, from the ground, glaring up at the Russian, "Making sure she's okay..."

"Awwww... you're both so sweet," Latvia said, and clutched Russia's arm, stopping him from punching the two of them out.

Both men looked at each other in horror and complete bewilderment, neither, in all their centuries-long lives, had ever been referred to as 'sweet'.

Russia just rumbled, deep in his chest. He did not think either of them could ever constitute as 'sweet', particularly Prussia who he thought was the most annoying, disgusting and perverted (after France) person on the planet. Denmark he thought had some kind of mental or drinking problem (much like himself) so was just worthy of ignoring. However, the Dane's exuberance and over-loud voice gave Russia a migraine.

"Dude chick's an honorary member of our Dude Trio, man!" Denmark all but yelled.

"Just an honorary member?" Latvia asked.

Russia grumbled, he was not happy about this at all.

"Yeah!"

"So who else is in it?"

"Me, Pru and you..." Den said, rubbing his head, completely baffled. He personally thought it was brilliant.

"So I'm a full member then?" Latvia persisted.

"Well..." Den thought hard about this.

Russia pulled on Latvia's hand, "Come on, Aija, leave them... we have to go to the ballet..."

"Well, I have to be a member then otherwise it's not a Trio is it? It would be just a Duo with me as an occasional member..." Latvia said, gently stroking Russia's hand, slowing him down a little.

Gilbert smacked Den in the chest, "I told you she'd make it complicated... bloody women!" he said.

"What do I have to do in this dude trio?" Latvia asked, much amused. Russia wrapped a possessive arm around her and glared over the top of her head at the two smaller Nations.

"Drink, man!"

"Aija is pregnant. She cannot drink," Russia told them.

"Party, man!" Den came back with.

Latvia laughed, "With you two? Will you both bring your embroidery?"

Prussia was outraged, "I don't do no embroidery! Tell her, Den..."

"Nah, man, he gave it up... we got thrown out of the crocheting group as well..."

"Why?" Latvia couldn't help but ask. Despite having a tall, gorgeous, blond Russian trying to pull her away, she just couldn't resist but wind these two up, just for a bit.

"...For partying, man! Those Russian babushkas couldn't cope with the awesome us!" Denmark told her, rather proudly.

Latvia frowned, "So you used to be in a crocheting group with some Russian grandmothers?"

"Nein!" Prussia yelled (Russia winced at the use of German and growled again, his hand clenching around his faucet pipe), "He's just joking!" Gilbert clamped a hand over Denmark's huge mouth.

"And what happened to your Hawaiian Tropic tour? And I saw your erm... photograph in that magazine..." Latvia started giggling.

"I looked brilliant, man!" Denmark yelled again. A passing pedestrian crossed the street hurriedly to avoid them.

"Well..." Latvia shook her head.

"We left... they were all men... and I ain't gay," Prussia said with a great deal of emphasis, but stood with his hands on hips.

Russia looked him up and down, "I always thought you were gay when you lived in my house," he stated simply.

Gilbert spluttered in disgust.

Latvia giggled, she found it hilarious that Russia assumed all the male Nations apart from himself were as gay as ... Poland.

"So is America not in this Trio?" she asked with interest.

"Nah, he's not allowed," Den answered.

Russia was still looking Gilbert up and down in that creepy way he did, his purple gaze taking in Gilbert's hands-on-hips pose, his stuck up hair (in Russia's mind any man who put products on their hair to that extent had to be gay) and the Prussian's annoying grin.

"Did England not give him a note to say he could join you?" Russia asked, "I bet Natalya would not let him join, either... maybe Natalya is now Amerika's stepmother... or ... something..." Russia's brow crinkled in, what Latvia thought was an adorable way, as he struggled to comprehend the family relationships between England, America and his little sister.

"Nah, it was Belgium... she's in charge now and he's not allowed to be silly with us."

Russia nodded, "He is about to become a father and so he should be sensible," he said and gently patted Latvia's growing bump (it wasn't literally growing at that moment, that would be weird) in a possessive way.

Latvia craned her head backwards at him and smiled.

"Man! I'm a dad... I've been a dad loads of times and I was never sensible..." Den said.

Latvia laughed at this but squeezed Russia's hand.

"I'm going to be a dad again..." Russia began to say, a little pink glow emanating from his shoulders, "And I am sensible!" he chirruped.

Prussia shook his head, "Poor kid..."

Latvia glared at him, "Vanya will be a brilliant dad," she said. Russia just beamed happily.

"We have to go, Aija... our taxi is here," Russia told her and pulled her away.

"Hey! Dude chick!"

Latvia turned to look back at Den before Russia handed her into the taxi.

"I'll send you the next photoshoot I do for Playgirl... a special picture of my hunkiness just for you," Den said, with a horrid leer.

Latvia laughed, "Don't bother... I've got Vanya, he's all the man I need," she told him.

This prompted Pru to punch Den in the stomach and 'kesese'.

Den was about to argue this point, but the taxi pulled away.

* * *

><p>In the back of the taxi, Latvia snuggled up to Russia and he pulled her gently into a one-arm bear-hug.<p>

"Which ballet is it, Vanya?" she asked, looking up at him.

He smiled back at her, "Swan Lake... I thought you would like it," he said and kissed the top of her head.

She leaned against his side and sighed. It was going to be so romantic, so lovely, so classy... just the two of them in the royal box.

* * *

><p>It wasn't just the two of them in the royal box. Latvia was settled into her seat by Russia, he gently brushed a hand down her back and then sat beside her, entwining her fingers in his, smiling happily, and then...<p>

"This is the one, I think... careful... mind the wheels..."

"Liz, this buffoon is just deliberately smashing the chair into corners..."

"I know, Roddy, I know... just have a little patience..."

"It says here that the conductor is ... oh... we don't have the royal box to ourselves..."

Latvia smiled at the Austrian and the Hungarian. Russia didn't.

"Hello, Liz... it's nice to see you here. I'm glad to see you're feeling better, Mr Austria," she said.

Russia said nothing. The temperature dropped several degrees. Hungary glared at the big Russian and Russia glared back... and wondered when Hungary had taken a job as a nurse.

"Well... I would be perfectly fine if... ow..." Austria began but was stopped as the theatre employee who had been pushing his wheelchair, halted abruptly and slammed (hopefully not deliberately) the immobile Austrian against the wooden balustrade.

Liz, pulled her rather tight and short nurse's uniform down a little, suppressed a snigger, but paid the man – who left quickly – and then sat down beside Latvia.

"So Latvia... how's it going?" Hungary asked.

"I'm fine, thank you. How are you?" Latvia answered. She sought Russia's hand and felt the tension in it, like a coiled spring.

"I'm fine... I've been looking after Roddy. Nursing him back to health," Hungary began and then took her ex-husband's hand.

Austria, who had been glaring about him – at Russia (which probably would have resulted in a trip to the hospital, except Russia obviously felt he couldn't beat somebody up who was _already _in a wheelchair), at the orchestra who he thought looked 'slovenly' and at the retreating back of the theatre employee - actually turned to his ex-wife and gave her the softest, gentlest look of love that nobody would have thought possible of the dour, bad-tempered Austrian.

"Why are you here?" Russia asked abruptly. He had been hoping that they'd have the royal box to themselves and he could cuddle Latvia in private whilst they watched, what he thought, was the most romantic ballet of all time.

"To watch the ballet... Tchaikovsky happens to be one of my favourite composers," Austria replied.

Russia's features softened a little at that and Latvia stroked his hand reassuringly. She'd found his temper and moods quite easy to manage really, now she was 'allowed' to touch him. A stroke on his hand or on the top of his beige-blond head and he quietened down and the purple haze would dissipate quite quickly. She found, backing it up with a quick kiss, meant the trigger was also forgotten. It was just a shame, she thought, that it had taken 30 years to realise this.

"...But Mozart is clearly superior," Austria added.

Russia growled but was quietened as Latvia stroked his head, as if he were a large dog.

"Well..." Hungary began but was watching the exchanges between Latvia and Russia with interest, storing it all away to report back later to Poland and Ukraine, the two Queens of Gossip. "...How's the pregnancy going? Morning sickness? Constipation? Weeing all the time?"

Unfortunately, Hungary had never been a quiet person and her voice carried around the auditorium.

Latvia winced but nodded to all those symptoms. "And you? How's _your_ pregnancy coming along?"

Hungary patted her stomach, "It's brilliant, never felt better. I feel as if I could kick arse and I mean arse..." she glared at Russia.

Russia was oblivious to the animosity emanated from the Hungarian. He just bent his head so Latvia could run her fingers through his hair and he hummed softly.

Hungary frowned, it was truly bizarre - to see the biggest, baddest, scariest Nation on earth, the one whose very presence often had his fellow Nations shivering - now reduced to the appearance of a big fluffy teddy bear.

She patted Austria's hand as he fretted over some mistake in the programme.

"Why is Austria in a wheelchair? The bullet hit his chest, not his legs," Russia asked bluntly, with a genuine frown on his face.

Had he forgotten? His memory was flaky at the best of times. The only thing he tended to keep track of lately, was Latvia's pregnancy, i.e. how much she'd eaten, when she'd thrown up, if she had backache, the first fluttering she'd felt in her womb – the advent of the more vigorous kicks she'd feel later on. The events of the previous months didn't really compute with him.

Hungary thought it was a good question. Truth be told, after he'd saved her life, leaping into the path of a bullet meant for her, she'd acted as his nurse and had actually enjoyed it, pampering him and indulging in his wish to be wheeled around in a wheelchair.

Austria had always enjoyed his spells of ill health. He seemed to particularly enjoy it now. However, he had actually been very ill and she'd feared he'd die. His recovery had been slow, but actually they'd both, in that time, rekindled their old romance and she'd never been happier. Austria had actually embraced the idea of being a father again after so long and had even took to picking out furnishings and colours for the nursery they'd planned at his mansion.

"He's convalescing... I'm his nurse, so shut up, Braginski," she said, adopting Poland's style of address at the big Nation, but she took a seat as far away from the Russian as she could.

Russia grumbled about this, but was soothed again by Latvia's hand on his shoulder and she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"I'm sure Mr Austria is still feeling very delicate and needs time to recover," Latvia said diplomatically.

Russia was confused about this. He'd been shot, stabbed, had once got in the way of a tank (the tank came off worse), in car crashes (usually caused by himself), almost drowned (the incident in the Baltic Sea hadn't been the first time he'd had to swim for safety), jumped out of an aeroplane without a parachute (he still didn't understand why the snow hadn't cushioned his fall quite as much as he'd thought it would), poisoned and crushed under a Murphy bed, but he'd never felt the need to spend any time in a wheelchair.

To say Hungary and Austria were fascinated by Russia's sudden descent into cuddliness would be an understatement. Hungary seriously wondered, considering how 'girly' (her words) the male Nations were becoming, if there were any 'real' men around anymore. She certainly had never counted Austria amongst these 'real men'. America was being bossed around by Belgium and seemed to spend his days acting all grown up and hadn't turned up in a superhero costume for weeks. England, who could always be relied upon to be sarcastic and to cause trouble by getting roaring drunk and insulting everybody at meetings, had turned into some kind of domesticated love-struck idiot. The English Nation now seemed to spend all his time doing embroidery, decorating his London townhouse and... learning to cook.

Then Hungary heard a voice and she knew that there were at least _some _manly men.

"Come on, Feli... mein gott stop messing about with your hair... it looks erm...nice..." the familiar German voice wafted through.

Russia growled a little at the German accent, but Latvia gave him a gentle nudge and shook her head when she saw him grip his faucet pipe.

"Ha! A real man... you won't find Ludwig acting like a lovestruck teenager or being all..." Hungary broke off as the German man walked in, with a pretty, young girl on his arm.

Russia and Latvia exchanged bewildered looks. Nobody had had a clue that Germany had a girlfriend.

"I thought Germany was gay!" Russia whispered to Latvia. Latvia rolled her eyes, Russia had always been under the impression everyone was gay.

"Clearly, he's not!" Latvia whispered back.

"Vee Luddy, this is nice!" said the girl and brushed her brown hair back from her eyes. She wore a simple green dress, her shoulder-length hair was pinned back and her amber eyes shone with delight.

For some reason, Latvia, Russia and Hungary all felt they knew her from somewhere, but were all absolutely dumb-struck. Hungary in particular, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, just stared. In all the centuries she'd known the stoic, sensible and ultimately – boring - German Nation, she had never seen him with a girlfriend.

Only Austria didn't seem surprised, "Hello Italy... I presume this is your first ballet? I hope you're not going to show us all up," he told the young girl.

The girl laughed, a tinkly, charming laugh that Germany seemed to find enchanting. It was weird, he was acting very un-Ludwig-like, as he hadn't stopped touching her – on the waist, her arms, her hair – since they'd entered the royal box.

Hungary nudged her ex-husband, "Roddy, that's not Italy... I know she looks like him but..." she stopped and took a closer look.

"Of course it is! Anyway, we should all be quiet now..." Austria retorted as the orchestra began to warm up.

They all ignored Austria and whispered to each other.

"Is that Italy?" Latvia whispered to Hungary.

"No... can't be... I know Feli looks girly... but... even he doesn't wear dresses... well not any more..."

"It can't be Italy... This girl is too pretty," Russia whispered to Latvia, and then, seeing Latvia's frown added quickly, "...But not as pretty as you, my love..." He reached across and kissed Latvia softly on the cheek and then said, "...But that is definitely a girl." He felt quite confident saying this, which was laughable really as Latvia had spent so long disguised as a boy under his rule.

Hungary said as much, "Yes, because you're the expert at gender identification, aren't you?" she said sarcastically.

"Shush, it's about to start," Austria said.

In all this time, Germany and the girl were sat together, linking hands and occasionally whispering to each other. The girl leaned against Germany's shoulder, while Germany smiled dazedly.

Nobody took any notice of Austria, Russia was about to punch him but was stopped by Latvia.

Finally, it was too much for Hungary and she said, rather loudly, "Hey Italy! Why're you wearing a frock?"

"Miss Hungary! Vee...!" the girl turned and laughed at the four Nations.

Germany shifted uncomfortably.

"Shush!" Austria said irritably.4

"Mr Italy... you look er nice but..." Latvia began.

"Tell us to shush again and you will be wearing that wheelchair on your head," Russia interrupted to tell Austria.

"I'm not Mr Italy!" the girl said with a cheerful smile and hugged Germany, who subsequently blushed, "I'm now Miss Italy!" she added.

Hungary and Latvia shared a look of utter bewilderment.

"See! I said she was a girl!" Russia beamed happily. Finally, he thought, he'd got a gender correct.

"Shush!" Austria said again as the curtain rose.

Russia grabbed the Austrian's wheelchair and looked set to hurtle him down the steps at top speed, but was stopped in his tracks by the next statement.

"Vee... Mr England did some of his magic and I'm now a girl!" Italy, for it was she/he, almost sang, waving his/her arms around happily. "Me and Luddy-kins are going to have lots of babies!"

Russia forgot what he was doing, Latvia leaned forward, Hungary started laughing.

Only Austria didn't share the moment, "Idiot Russian buffoon... Turn me around, I can't see the stage... honestly, heathens! This one of the greatest ballets ever written... Of course he's a girl..."

"Awwwww..." Hungary, Latvia (and Russia) all cooed at this. (At Italy's revelation, not at Austria's rant which was being duly ignored.)

"...But Luddy doesn't know what to do..." Italy continued in a rather loud voice.

'Luddy' hid his head in his hands in despair.

Hungary snorted, "Oh this is just too funny..." she managed to splutter.

Latvia laughed, Russia frowned and nudged his 'little sunflower', "Do what?" he asked her, puzzled.

"Vanya, go with Mr Germany down to the bar and get us some drinks and have a quiet word with him," she said to Russia, batting her eyelashes at him.

Russia frowned, "A word about what?" he asked. He didn't really like spending time with Germany. He found the man odd and loud and the German accent brought back horrid flashbacks...

"Birds and the bees..." she whispered to him.

"Okay," Russia chirruped and got up, shoved Austria out of the way again and nodded to Germany to follow him, "Come on, Germany, I will buy you a beer."

"This is going to be good..." Hungary said and ignored her patient's irritable sighs and groans (Austria didn't dare tell them to 'shush' again).

* * *

><p>It was halfway through the first Act before Russia and Germany came back.<p>

Germany looked even more bewildered than before, he sat down beside Italy and whispered, "I have no idea what just happened."

Russia looked very pleased with himself. "You were right, little Aija! Mr Germany knew nothing about birds or bees..." he shook his head in disbelief. "... But I put him right..."

Italy smiled at Germany, "Vee Luddy, we'll go back to the hotel tonight and try again... You'll get the hang of it..." she/he said confidently.

Hungary spluttered into the soft drink Germany had brought for her and started choking.

"Feli...!" Germany protested.

"Did Mr Russia tell you what to do?" Feliciano/a asked in a lower voice.

"Erm, I'm not sure. He said something about seeds and watering them and then something about nests..."

"Kinky sod!" Hungary retorted.

"Shush!" Austria said.

Latvia giggled and just raised an eyebrow.

"Wut?" Russia asked.

* * *

><p>Three hours later, the six Nations left the theatre, Austria was still grumbling that he'd missed most of the performance, Hungary and Latvia were gossiping, Russia was humming happily to himself, Germany still look confused and wondered where he was going to get a watering can at such a late hour, whilst Italy was twirling around and around.<p>

"I like being a girl... ve it'sa fun!" she declared.

"Just keep her away from France," Russia warned Germany.

Germany nodded and just gently took the smaller Nation's hand, "Come on Feli, back to our hotel..."

"Vee Luddy! Are we going to make a baby?" she said, rather too loudly.

Hungary laughed out loud – again, "Hahaha, yes, you are... But looking at the big German fool, you'll have to knit one!"

Germany, red-faced and stuttering with rage and embarrassment, pushed Italy into a waiting taxi.

"Come on, Roddy, let's get you into bed..." Hungary said, pulling her coat around herself, hiding her too short nurse's uniform. She managed to make the whole remark sound vaguely obscene.

Russia murmured to Latvia, "I don't think nurses should wear skirts that short, it doesn't look practical."

"It's Pol's," Hungary told him.

Russia blushed and pulled Latvia along the pavement with him, "Let's go for a walk, Aija..." he said.

Latvia was still giggling. In fact, she'd barely stopped giggling and had had to visit the toilets several times in the past three hours.

"Where are we going?" Latvia asked as they walked along, hand in hand. Russia had a set look on his face. He evidently had some idea in his head.

"Are we going to a bar or something?" she asked.

Russia shook his head and then smiled, "I have a better idea for something to do!"

"Like what?" Latvia asked. She knew what she'd like to do... She gave a sneaky look at his tall, well-muscled physique (although, admittedly she couldn't see very much of it under his layers of clothing).

"It's a surprise! I'll give you a clue... we haven't done it in a while," Russia answered her mysteriously.

"Oooh," Latvia managed to keep the disappointment out of her voice. It wasn't _that _then.

"The last time we did it, you were a boy... I mean, I thought you were a boy... and you were a bit sore afterwards..." Russia continued.

Latvia couldn't understand what he was talking about. Was he going to practise his martial arts on her? Surely not?

* * *

><p>All became clear as they walked through the nearby park and she heard music and saw the twinkly lights.<p>

"Ooooh..." she said, understanding made her smile when she saw all the people whizzing past on their ice skates.

"I will take care of you, Aija – make sure you don't fall," he told her.

This time, there was no awkwardness, no stumbling and no worrying about hanging on too tight. Latvia held onto his shoulders and allowed him to guide her around and around the ice rink to the music. She felt safe, secure and warm in his arms. She stumbled once or twice but he caught her easily, holding her gently and then wrapped his arms around her and they traced a slow, lazy, figure of eight around the rink, Russia's bulk making other skaters slide around them.

"Can you remember the last time we did this?" Latvia asked him, gazing up into deep purple irises.

Russia nodded, "You kept falling over... it was very funny," he answered. But he kept a tight hold on her this time. He didn't want her to hurt herself or the baby.

"... and I told you not to call me a boy, remember?" Latvia answered, with a wicked smile on her face.

Russia's mouth went into one big 'O'.

"And remember that time I told you I wasn't a man?" Latvia continued.

"I thought you meant you were a boy?" Russia said in confusion.

Latvia shook her head and grinned. She was having fun, whilst Russia sought through his scrambled memories for all their times together and she'd given him hints and he'd just ignored them.

"You always looked like a girl!" Russia exclaimed, tightening his hold on her as their skating slowed. Correction, as Russia's skating slowed and Latvia, who had just been clinging to him, slowed to a stop with him.

"You're so funny!" she said and laughed out of sheer joy.

Russia stopped, bent his head towards hers, took her face in his hands gently and kissed her softly on the lips, "I love you, my little Latvia..." he murmured softly.

Latvia kissed him back, tracing his lips with hers, deepening the kiss and then pulling back. She felt as if she'd finally come home.

Russia rested his head on top of hers and breathed slowly and softly. Everything was right with the world...

**Author's Note: Phew... I really enjoyed writing that. I tried to finish everything off and bring everything full circle. Sorry it's taken so long. I had a lot of other stories whirling around in my head and I wanted to get this finished with a lovely happy and slushy ending for Russia and Latvia (and the others).**

**Feel free to review/PM/comment.**


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